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The Power of Clothing Pt. 01

By: mandywilluk2000



This is a run of stories within my 'The Power of......." series. 

These, maybe shorter than usual, for me, stories look at how the clothes we wear influence and promotes our sexual feelings and arousal.

As I have some photos from that party, I did try posting this to the Illustrated Story category. I couldn't make it work, but if you would like to how I looked, contact me and persuasively explain why.

Let me know your thoughts and any other ideas.

*

Chapter 1

I stood in front of the mirror staring at myself. 

I had arranged my long, chestnut coloured hair in a rather untidy pile on the top of my head. It had two large combs holding it up. Some stray locks tumbled down both sides by my ears and over my forehead across my eyes. My 'tart just got out of bed' look I thought, smiling. 

I had applied heavy make-up. Deep red lipstick and more mascara than was tasteful. I had dangly earrings hanging down and a gold chain round, my neck.

I was wearing a tight, three-buttoned, grey jacket, a black skirt and dark tights, the skirt being too short for stockings, and high-heeled, patent leather, almost stiletto, shoes. The jacket was long, the skirt was short; there was lots of nylon covered leg on show. The lapels of the jacket were cut so that they flared down in two arcs from my shoulders to meet midway between my breasts. The top button was undone, the other two were done up. Between the lapels of the jacket, my black, lacy, silk camisole was very evident. I wasn't wearing a bra. My heavy breasts moved sensuously inside the cam and jacket. Lacking support, my D cup boobs sagged a little, both to each side and downwards. The didn't, therefore, form a deep, narrow cleavage, but instead a shallow, wide one. Where the lapels gaped and the lacy top, of the satiny camisole sagged, most of my breasts could be seen. When I leaned forward, the top of the camisole was almost at nipple level.

My skirt was tight, everywhere. It was stretched round my bum, across my legs and over my stomach. When I moved, it was like a second skin moving with me showing the outlines of the cheeks of my bum, the fullness of my thighs, the slight bulge of my tummy and the prominence of my pubic mound. It was also short. Far shorter than a thirty something married woman with a child should really wear, it ended mid-way down my thighs; another way of looking at it was that it ended some ten inches above my knees.

Chapter 2

He caught my eye across the room. This was the focal point of the party in the large house in the country. It was a noisy, busy and crowded party; there could well have been over a hundred people there. The house, though, was large enough to cope. The theme of the party was 'tarts and vicars.'

We smiled at each other. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head to the left, towards the French windows. I nodded. It was a very warm, balmy evening and the windows were welcomingly wide open. Putting my glass down, I strolled towards the doors. They were nearer to me than him, so I was standing on the patio when he came out. 

We hardly spoke, it wasn't really necessary. We hadn't moved from the blare of the music to the relative quiet of the outside to discuss topics. We hadn't swapped the crowds of the house for the solitude of the huge garden to debate issues. We knew why we had done those things and we had no need to talk about them. 

He took my hand as we walked slowly away from the house, my high heels sinking into the lush turf of the, which at other times I knew was used as a croquet lawn. We left the noise behind and we removed ourselves from the crowds as we sought our own special place. That was some hundred yards from the house, slightly into a wooded area, under the branches of a large evergreen tree, which I think was a cedar. 

The night was very clear, the moon was bright, giving just enough light under the tree for us to see each other.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. He was already hard. That felt good and I was pleased at the effect I had on him. As his tongue slid past my lips into my wide-open mouth, so he thrust his erection against me. I responded by writhing against it. His cock and my pubic mound seemed to dance together in a simulated fuck. I liked that.

His hand slid between us, searching for my breast. I stopped him.

"Wait," I whispered.

"What? Why? What for?" He asked.

In the dim light, I looked into his eyes and smiled.

"For this?" I murmured, my slightly shaking fingers fumbling at the two buttons on my jacket. 

His eyes seemed to be devouring my breasts; they certainly never left them as I undid the jacket. I took it off and laid it on the ground. I felt every bit the tart the clothes made me look.

We kissed again, this time his hand did find my breast and caressed it through the smooth, lustrous silk of my camisole. 

"Mmmmm, lovely, no bra, I like that," he murmured.

He squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure, lifting the orb a little and flattening the flesh a bit by pressing it against my rib cage. He slid one of the thin spaghetti straps off my shoulder. I slid my hands round his neck.

"Ok?" He asked.

"Yes," I replied loving the feel of him peeling the material away from my breast and feeling the air on my skin. 

My nipples immediately hardened. He slid the other strap off and folded the camisole down so my breasts were completely bare. He beautifully caressed them both, cupping them, lifting them, squeezing them and pushing them together. He bent his head. He moved his face towards my breasts. I lifted one and offered it to him. He kissed the top of it and then, as I leaned slightly backwards, he took my extended, swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked it. The rush of pleasure made me gasp.

"Nice?"

"Mmmmm, lovely.

He sucked and chewed my nipples for some time as his hands squeezed and caressed my bum. He fumbled the buttons on his shirt undone. Infuriatingly, I couldn't remove the dog collar he was wearing as part of his vicar's outfit. It didn't matter, though; it was his chest I wanted to feel.

He pulled my bare boobs against his quite hairy torso. That was lovely. Like that, we kissed more as his hands went down my body, stroking, then gripping and then squeezing the cheeks of my bum inside the tight skirt. By holding my bum and pulling, he squashed my pubis against his hardness. He thrusted and I squirmed. Magic.

I felt his hands lifting my skirt, easing it upwards, rolling it. It was very tight across my hips and bum; truth be told it was too small for me, but then tarts wear tight, too small for them clothes, don't they? I helped him; I wiggled my hips a little. That worked, for it then slipped up easily and quickly the hem was sliding past my pubes and over my bum. 

I was now very aroused indeed. I needed to feel him, touch him, hold him. I got my hand between us and ran it up and down his hard on outside his trousers. He knew what I wanted. He undid his zip and, together we got it out. It was gorgeous, hard, warm and throbbing. I revelled in running my fingers and hands up and down its marvellously sensuous length. It made me shudder with want.

His hands were all over my nylon-encased bum. I was wearing a black thong so there was no interruption to the smooth voluptuousness of the cheeks. He stroked, rubbed, squeezed and pinched them making his way occasionally between my legs and, a few times round the front onto my mound and near my clit. At the same time, I had opened his trousers at the top and had wiggled my hand inside his nice, tight boxers, easing them down a little so that his cock was uncovered apart from the tail of his shirt, which annoyingly kept flapping round my hand. Despite that, I was now able to really enjoy his erection and I did.

He was also getting more adventurous. 

He had slid his hands inside my tights at the back and had given me the luxuriously sensual sensation of his hands on my bare skin. Lovely. He pushed the top down a little. Then some more. The rolled down top was now by the top of my pubic hairs. He slid one hand round me. Slipping a finger between my cheeks at the back, he cupped me at the front and rubbed me in both places. That was wonderful. He found my clit and rubbed that, he got my lips and rubbed them and he found my anal hole and rubbed that. I was a quivering mess of sexual pleasure. He made me cum. 

That wasn't hard, but it was great. 

I moaned and thrashed around a bit squeezing and pumping his cock as the waves of glorious feelings swept over me. He pushed my hand away from him.

"Not yet," he whispered, sounding encouraging about what was still to come.

It was a shame we couldn't lie down as we had to be careful we didn't dirty our clothes, but sex standing up against tree can't be bad, can it.

And that's exactly how he fucked me, and from behind. Awesome.

Chapter 3

It was squelchingly tart like to walk around the party his sperm still in me, some of it seeping out into the gusset of my thong and tights. 

"Ready to go?" He asked an hour or so later.

He helped me up into the passenger seat of his Range rover Sport. It was parked way down the drive away from any other cars.

"Why don't you take these off?" He asked running his hand up my thigh on my tights.

"Why not?" I replied. 

I snuggled down in the seat lying out nearly straight and lifted my bum off the leather. I slipped my hands up my skirt and into the waistband of my tights. A little, pushing, a few wiggles and they were sliding down my legs. As I was fiddling them off my feet, he reached out and pushed his hand up my skirt taking the hem upwards with his wrist. He slipped his fingers into my thong as I eventually, removed my tights.

"Might as well lose this too," he said, rather thickly.

"Ok," I replied feeling wonderfully sluttish.

"It's probably wet in any case, isn't it?"

"It may have dried," I replied smiling, as I repeated the tights removing manoeuvres with my panties.

It had been years since I had gone commando. It must have been before I was married when my husband and I were quite adventurous lovers, before becoming husband and wife. 

I can't say that it felt much different physically to what it did wearing them. It was emotionally where the difference arose. 

We started on the journey from Kent to Essex by driving through some lanes onto the A28 near Wye, before turning onto the M20 and then the M25. That took us through Dartford Tunnel into Essex. I was aroused nearly every mile of the way, especially when we pulled up at the tollbooth at Dartford Crossing. The guy peered into the car and it seemed as if he was staring at my bare legs although, probably, he couldn't see a thing.

That wasn't the case though when we stopped at a service station. The skirt had looked and felt short when I had the cover and extra protection of my tights. Without them, and with what seemed like acres of leg on show, I felt as if everyone was staring and would somehow know I wasn't wearing any knickers. It made me feel like the real tart I looked like. We only had a coffee and used the toilets, so we were soon on our way again.

However, before leaving the car park, he reached across and kissed me. As he did, he slid his hands inside my jacket. Removing his lips from mine, he took hold of the scooped, lacy top of the camisole right where the thin straps joined the neckline. I imagined he was going to caress my breasts and I probably slightly arched my back. I was completely wrong, though. Suddenly with no warning, he yanked hard on the lace by both straps. A cami such as I was wearing is designed for looks, not robustness. It ripped. The neckline came away from the straps.

"What you doing?" I said grabbing the ripped front, which had fallen away from my breasts.

"Making you look even more like the tart you really are."

"Gee thanks, I have to go home like this you know?"

"Never mind, now let go of the camisole and undo the buttons on your jacket."

"Why?"

"Cos as I drive I want to see your tits," was his matter-of-fact and, I suppose, perfectly logical explanation.

I did as he asked.

I felt a little foolish at first. However, as he kept glancing across at my bare breasts and occasionally reaching over and fondling them, so I became more and more aroused. 

"Squeeze over towards the centre as far as you can," he said.

I did.

"Open your legs."

I did.

"Put one across this," he said touching the centre console.

I did.

He now had my spread legs and pussy to fondle as well as my bare tits. 

"This isn't fair," I said reaching across the centre, squashing my boobs on the raised box.

"True," he muttered cupping one of my bobs.

I undid his trousers, fiddled around in the folds of his shirt and pants and found his cock. Directly I released it from its confines, it sprang to attention.

"Shall I?" I asked, holding it upright, opening my mouth and slipping my tongue out.

"Mmmm, yes."

It actually wasn't that good for either of us when I tried sucking his cock. There were too many extraneous influences, like keeping us on the road for instance. But it was fun and it did add to the tart like behaviour I had been exhibiting for most of the evening.

We turned off the M25. We were in a wooded area that I knew well. He was driving slowly. 

"I want to fuck you," he said. "Ok?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I mean in here, now, in the car in a car park."

"Fine," I replied, excited at the thought.

We were going a little too fast to turn into the first car park.

"There's bound to be another."

"Yes I think there is," I advised.

There was and we turned into it. He pulled the car up in the corner.

"Quick in the back."

I didn't need a second bidding.

I slid my skirt up and lay back in the corner of the big seat. He got on top of me, caressing my breasts and feeling my bum, I was holding his cock.

"Open your legs."

I did.

He got between them and we kissed. I felt him pressing against my lips.

"Ok?" He asked.

"Yes," I grunted.

"You want to be fucked like this do you?"

"Yes," I groaned.

"You want my big, hard cock right up your slut's cunt do you?

"Yes."

"Tell me, say it," he said squeezing my tits, quite hard.

"I want to be fucked, by your big, hard cock," I willingly moaned.

"And where do you want my cock? Where do you want to be fucked?

"In my pussy, up my cunt, please fuck me up my cunt now.

He pushed and was in me, quick and deep. I was very wet and very ready. Fucking on the back seat of a car in a car park was, I felt, very tart-like indeed.

I was amazed at just what effect tarty, slutty clothes had on my husband. 

The Power of Clothing Pt. 02



This is the second story in my Power of Clothing Series. These, shorter than usual, for me, stories looks at how the clothes we wear influence and promote our sexual feelings and arousal.

It is part of a broader series examining how so many various things are part of our sexual lives.

As, particularly, this 'clothing series, flows from story to story, I strongly recommend that you read them in the Parts order.

Let me know your thoughts and any other ideas.

Thanks

Amanda





Chapter 1

"I've got a present for you," he said.

"Oooo, lovely," Jo replied. 

"You'll have to get out of bed then," Tom said throwing the sheet back, which had been covering the naked lovers.

Jo clambered out watching Tom do the same, his erection now gone.

"Stand there then."

She did. He looked at her. She looked good. It had been good sex as well, but then so had the other three times they'd had it in their short affair.

"What is it?" Jo asked, full of curiosity. He hadn't made a habit of buying her presents, not that she wanted them for they made her feel a bit like a hooker when having a fling with a married man, but something now and then was nice.

"You'll see, close your eyes. No hang on," he said going into the bathroom. "Turn round, let me put this on," Tom said, holding up a thin towel.

"Now now, no sensory deprivation," Jo said smiling."

"Not at all, but let me loop it round, stop you peeping." 

She half didn't believe him and wondered if he was going to try to tie her up? She wondered even more at what her reaction might be. She had never been tied up, restrained or even blindfolded and did have a curiosity about such practices. However, he didn't.

Tom tied the thin towel loosely round her eyes and he too, thought about maybe taking things further. He even felt a slight twitch in his cock at the vision in his mind of the naked Jo on the bed, her arms tied above her head, her ankles tied to the end of the bed, her, long slim legs wide open. He stored that idea for later, perhaps.

Jo heard some rustling wondering like hell what was going on and what the present could be. She felt that he was close to her, just behind her.

"Hold your arms above your head please Jo?" He asked, loving the view of her small tits being stretched as she did as he asked.

She felt something being wrapped round her then worked out that it was a waspie or a basque or something. Tom was behind her holding the opened edges. He moved around her and she felt him pulling the edges together. 

'It must have hooks and eyes' she thought, amending that to include, 'some Velcro when she heard that familiar sound.

Tom had never done such a thing before and certainly had no experience of doing up hooks and eyes; he had undone some, but never the other way.

"Shall I help?" Jo asked, laughing a little as she added. "Women are trained to things like those up without looking, we'd never get our bras off otherwise.

They got all the first few done up quite easily, but as they moved downwards toward her waist, it was more of a struggle.

"You hold the sides together and I'll do them up," Tom suggested. They did that and, after considerable struggle and Jo breathing in a lot, they were done up.

"Can I take this off now?" she asked.

"No, not yet," the man replied "There's more."

He left her for a moment and Jo ran her hands over the garment. It was silky and lacy and was an underbust job with suspenders. 'Obviously getting a bra, panties or stockings she conjectured, feeling surprisingly interested and tingly as she stood there in the muddle of the room clad in just a basque and blindfold. She wasn't too sure what was the major turn on, the lingerie or him dressing her or, was it the feeling? God it was tight! She felt severely restricted.

"That looks fantastic," Tom said from close by, having padded barefoot back to her. "And with these on you'll look even more fantastic. He then proceeded, with Jo's help, so get her legs into a pair of stocking, which Jo felt were seemed at the back.

He got the front suspenders clipped ok, but was struggling with the ones that ran over her hips. He was standing behind her fumbling with something new to him, doing up the clasp of a suspender, when she felt his cock brush against her bare back. It was nearly hard and that was unusual. Tom had so been a 'one-time a session' guy. Sure they would make love, well have sex, for their attraction to each other stopped at liking and fancying, for ages, sometimes two or three hours. They would do oral on each other, which always made Jo cum, but not him. She was careful there, for with a 'one-time guy' having cum all over your face or tits seemed such a waste. He would also make her cum with his fingers, so she might have four or five orgasms before they had full sex. During that time, Tom would gaine and lose his erection several times. So far, they had always managed to get it back, but Jo worried that sometime they might not and she would end up 'unfucked.'

So it was quite a surprise to feel his hardening maleness against her bum.

"Mmmm, that felt nice," she said, adding. "Where's that come from?

As an answer, he whipped the blindfold away.

"This," was all he said.

Tom had positioned Jo in front of a mirror so she could see what he meant.

Despite the colouring of the basque being 'typical mistress' as Cosmo always called crimson and black, it was a sexy looking job. It didn't cover her boobs but was cut so it ran just beneath them, lifting them a little. The lower hem circumvented her tummy about midway between her navel and the top of her neatly trimmed brown pubes. The suspenders straining down her thighs held up a pair of very long, black, slightly old-fashioned, but nevertheless quite raunchy-looking and, as she had guessed, seemed nylons.

Overall, she was pleased with the effect. The main feeling it gave her was one of extreme femininity, she had never felt quite so much a woman, she thought, not really understanding quite what that meant.

Her figure was transformed by it. Whereas, usually, her curves were as minimal as is expected from a 33b 27 37 figure and, like many 'English roses,' she was a little pear-shaped, the lower centre of gravity having helped her with her tennis when younger when Jo broke into the top one hundred in the UK, now it was all so different. 

Her small breasts were pushed up and supported, making them look the C or more cup she had always dreamed of. Her waist was pulled in somewhat, probably twenty-five or fewer inches, she calculated. And her hips, which mostly, she felt, looked and were oversized and under flattering, now looked amazing. They flared out from her lessened waist in curve either side, the like of which make men dribble with want.

"See Jo," Tom said standing behind her. "You look absolutely fucking amazing, like it?"

Feeling her nipples hardening, she went to reply, but he jumped in. Tom slid his hand round her and took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"I can see you do."

"It's incredible just what effect clothing can have isn't it Jo?"

"Mmmm, yes it is," Jo replied involuntarily running her hands up and down the silky material as he moved out from behind her, he was fully erect.

"You can see what they do to me, can't you?"

"Yes I can Tom," Jo replied reaching out for her lover's cock.

Chapter 2

In many ways, Jo Ashford was a normal working girl. About average looking with averagely attractive, averagely coloured, dark brown hair that she nearly always kept averagely short, easier to wash and look after, she had an average shaped body, but better than average legs. "My best feature" she always felt.

A confirmed 'bachelor girl' as she termed herself, in preference to spinster as her mum called her, she was a Regional Sales Manager for a national chain of health clubs. Her region being East and South East London and then all the counties to the right of a line drawn from Oxford Circus to Hull in Southern Yorkshire, meant she travelled a lot. Jo lived in London Docklands, not far from Canary Wharf, so getting around was easy, just up the M11 onto the M25 and she could find the most amazing traffic jams. It was nothing for her to leave home at four thirty in the morning to get to a meeting.

In other ways she was, though, not quite so average or 'normal.'

She was extremely ambitious and was highly thought of by her bosses, the eight hundred sales staff and tennis, fitness and swimming coaches who reported to her through the forty club managers on her patch. She knew she was being groomed for National Sales Manager, which was likely to become vacant in a year or so and most of her thoughts and focus were on making sure she got that promotion.

She had graduated from Loughborough with a first class honours degree in Sports Management. In her mid-twenties, she had complimented that with an MBA from Cranfield. The combination had been the persuasive factor that got her the job with the leading health club company in Europe, she was on her way!

Jo was a sporty girl. That was not just in her attitude towards sex, but also towards sports. In her teens, Jo had been a very promising tennis player, representing her county from the age of fifteen and briefly breaking into the top one hundred in the country in her late teens. She still played occasionally, but was now, in her late twenties, more into golf where she had reduced her handicap down to fifteen in the five years or so she had been playing.

For as long as she could remember, Jo had showed little interest in steady boyfriends or settling down and she felt that maternal instincts had passed her by. As most of her school and uni friends got married, Jo really was 'often the bridesmaid, never the bride.' It didn't bother her, she didn't want children and she certainly didn't want to be emotionally, sexually or in any other way dependent upon a man.

In many ways, however, it was her views and attitudes on sex, which set her apart from the norm. With those, she was very much not average or normal.

Kate was not lesbian. She didn't really even consider herself to be bi-sexual, although ever since her tennis days she had 'dabbled' with girls. She had controversial and very individual opinions on sexuality. In her mind everyone, if they had not been conditioned by social conventions largely influenced by religion, would go with someone of their own gender, given appropriate circumstances. Hence, being bi-sexual was the norm, in her view.

She also held many of the opinions that were in vogue in the sixties; she often felt that the hippy movement of the period was a strong influence on her, even though she never witnessed it of course, maybe she was born too late!

It would be going too far to say she believed in the hippy mantra of free love. That, she believed, was largely promoted by horny blokes trying to get into girl's knickers. But she did feel that the attitudes and approach of the Scandinavians was far more relevant than the strictures of English and American societies. Sex should be enjoyed, it was a pleasure, it need not be restricted, monogamy was a convention not a need. Again, society and religion had a lot to answer for.

The other area of controversy and 'non normal' thinking was in her approach to her partners. Firstly, she rarely, if ever went with guys of her own age or younger. With hundreds of younger, virile coaches working for her, it was not as if she lacked the opportunities, but she resisted; never dip your pen in company ink was a motto she fiercely adhered to.

She much preferred older guys, some even in their late fifties, she wasn't picky on age or looks come to that. It was a combination of force of personality and, even more importantly, brainpower that was Jo's main attraction to men. A vibrant mind, a quick brain, an intellectual approach and a deeply analytical manner really could let a man 'think his ways into her knickers.

It was the relationship status of the men she chose, though, that was probably the most unusual line of Jo's thinking. Nearly always, she went with married men. Her rational being that, generally, they were safer and wouldn't demand more from her than she wished to give, sex. Of course, it went wrong now and then and she would have to deal with a guy who said he would leave his wife and they could live together. It was easy to deal with, byeeeeeeeeeeee! She could be a real hard bitch when necessary, but then career girls like her had to be.

Finally, it was where and how Jo met most of her partners that set her aside from other women.

Her job meant that she was away nearly half of most weeks staying in hotels all over Eastern England. On top of that she had to attend training courses and management meetings, which could be anywhere in the UK and Europe.  In most of those hotels, there were usually men away from home on business who yearned for the company of a young, sexually enthusiastic woman. Now and then, when the mood took her, Jo provided just that.

Chapter 3

Going up to the reception desk and asking for the key gave Jo a particular buzz, Sex in the afternoons, particularly in a hotel, was always a buzz. Usually, of course she went to the hotel with her lover. Tom, though, had to go to a meeting after checking in and phoned her with the room number and said they were registered as Mr and Mrs Miles.

She checked into hotels all the time and knew full well the staff didn't give a sod what went on, as long as the bill was paid. Probably a hang up from when she was young, Jo though, when checking in with a guy or even more so when he wasn't there as Tom wasn't, had this illogical fear the receptionist would stop her. So, taking the plastic card from the pretty, blonde, probably Polish, girl who smiled at her in what Jo ridiculously thought was a 'knowing' way, gave her a little charge of fear, but that was accompanied by a surge of sexual excitement as she walked across the lobby to the lifts.

This was only their fourth liaison. The first had been when they met in a hotel in Norwich and she had invited him to her room the second night they were there, she never let them fuck her the first night, Jo didn't do one-night stands. Second, had been a couple of weeks later when they were both in Birmingham and they ended up in his room, she stayed the night and the third had been some heavy petting in his car in a service station on the M40 near Oxford.

She was never quite sure on the hotel room etiquette when the girl was there first. Stay fully dressed? Get naked, get in bed, undress down to underwear, she pondered, wishing she had brought a dressing gown with her, but considered that to be rather forward. She had showered just before leaving home an hour or so ago, so that wasn't necessary and she didn't need to change her panties, so she stayed fully dressed.

After arriving, Tom had quickly undressed her and as equally quickly had got her onto the bed. They caressed and stroked, sucked and licked each other until he pushed her onto her back. As he slithered down her body so Jo held his head, ran her fingers though his hair and opened her legs. He made her cum very quickly. He did that again shortly after with his fingers as she sucked his cock and then he fucked her with them lying on their sides facing each other her left leg lifted up and draped over his right hip.

Jo had thought their afternoon sex was over until she heard those words. 

"I have a present for you."

After dressing her in the basque and stockings, Tom quickly dispelled that thought. He persuaded Jo onto all fours on the carpet, still in the stockings and basque, and they fucked wonderfully.

"You can't believe," he grunted as he surged in and out of her, "just what that basque and stockings do to me."

Jo didn't reply, but smiled to herself as yet another orgasm built up inside her. 'Oh yes I can,' she thought to herself.

Chapter 4

Tom didn't last that much longer, but then Jo's lovers rarely did. 

Over the next year or so, she had two more 'Tomlike' flings and the occasional shag with her long-term 'fuckbuddy' Bill, a friend of her father's. 

Her promotion had come through, so now she was more office based at the company's headquarters in central London, although she travelled around the UK clubs and visited Europe. The reduced travel and the horrendous demands of the new job limited her opportunities to find new lovers; they also reduced her energy levels at finding them. Work, became even more than it had been previously, her lover.

The fling with Tom had triggered something in Jo. That time he had dressed her in the basque had given her sensations she had never before experienced. Wonderful, exciting sensations, sensations she wanted to repeat.

"Would you like to tie me up?" She had asked Gary, a lover who had lasted almost six weeks.

Spread-eagled on the bed, her ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts had repeated some of the sensations she was seeking; it had certainly made for some great sex. It wasn't quite the same though. It was different, quite nice, something new, but not what she was seeking.

She persuaded Bill to accompany her to a BDSM club. She thought that maybe she might have the guts to join in and perhaps be restrained in some way. That was hopeless. On one level, she just found the whole mess quite sad and on another level, laughable; men in latex posing pouches and masks were such a turn off.

Although hellishly busy getting on top of the new job and making a mark with the new MD, her boss, she still had time to think and wonder just what it was that so intrigued and excited her that afternoon with Tom.

Jo's life was now consumed with the job and she only had room in it for one other thing, sex, and not too much of that either.

She hardly had time for one of her, very necessary, passions, clothes shopping. Appearance was important to her, but more and more she was using the Internet to buy her clothing.

She was in a hotel in Sheffield one evening looking for clothes on her laptop. She found a couple of suits, some blouses and shirts and then logged on to an underwear site. It was then that it her, hard. Staring at her from the screen was a basque similar to the one Tom had squeezed her into. 

She enlarged the photo and then looked at some more basques. Her heart was pounding at both the visions she was seeing and the memories of what she felt with Tom. Of course, that was it, she thought, her hands being drawn as if like magnets to her breasts. As she visited other sites, including some that were pure fetishist showing crotch less panties and bras with holes where nipples poked through as well as straight, but erotic stuff, so Jo became more and more aroused.

As she slipped her hands up the long tee shirt she usually wore as a dressing gown when working in a hotel room, she realised that she hadn't had sex for over a month, and that included with herself. Smiling as she ordered three different basques, paying for them with her Amex card, her hands found her small breasts. They felt alive. Her mind was replaying those sensations Tom had given her when she was blindfolded and he put the basque on her. She could almost feel the tightness round her chest and waist and she realised that was what she wanted to replicate. She knew she couldn't do that now, so she did the next best thing.

The tee shirt was lying on the floor beside where Jo stood looking in the full-length mirror. She was naked. Her hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples and stroking her thighs and tummy as they moved nearer and nearer to where they had to be. Her hands clamped between her thighs, Jo sank to the floor as she pushed three straightened fingers into her soaking pussy. The memories of the sensations she had received from wearing that tight basque bursting through her mind, Jo made herself cum lying on the floor of that hotel bedroom in Sheffield.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 02



Chapter 5.

"Wow, you look great."

"Been dieting, have you?"

"You have a stunning figure."

"Where have those curves come from?"

These were the sort of remarks that Jo was getting from girl friends, work colleagues, men and potential lovers. Obviously, they made her feel good, naturally they made her feel very feminine and for sure they excited her. Little did the people who made the comments know that she was wearing a basque.

Jo tried a variety of garments. Basques, with and without suspenders, bustiers and waspies. All gave her some lovely sensations and some wonderful moments. Even shopping for them, when she had time, was something of a turn on. She had never really been that interested in sexy underwear, preferring instead the more practical, larger panties and full, comfortable bras. 

PT, as she now termed the period of her life, 'post Tom', things changed and that was not just with her hunt to find the sensation she had so enjoyed by being restricted in that basque. The change was more than just that.

It started one evening a month or so after she ended her affair with him. She was in, yet another hotel room, this time in Edinburgh when she was attending a senior management-training course. She was looking for basques and bustiers to add to the two she had originally purchased. She was looking at 'ladies underwear' sites and came across such sites as Lejaby, Agent Provocateur and Janet Regar. At first, she looked on with amazement at the ridiculously flimsy and equally ridiculously expensive panties and bras. That soon changed to interest, intrigue and excitement. When she imagined her pussy in the tiny g strings or thongs, or thought of the lustrous feel of the silk of French knickers on her tummy, bum and pubic areas, she found herself becoming aroused. Visualising her small breasts in the diaphanous bras, her sturdy nipples on show, making such evident mounds in the thin lace, turned her on a lot. The inevitable and, what was becoming, her typical end to a day in a hotel happened, she masturbated. 

She ordered a ton of stuff and her lingerie drawers were never the same again.

Her sex life had been depressingly barren, although to some extend that was intentional, due to the new job. Then she accepted a date with Barry, a man she had met at a corporate golf day, making him more of a conventional date than her 'hotel pick ups.' Also, he was a widow and not single. 

They had dinner a couple of times, ending both evenings with 'pecks on the cheek.' The third 'date' was playing golf and afterwards he drove her home in his big Mercedes.

"I have a really early start tomorrow, Barry, otherwise I would ask you in," Jo said as they pulled up near to her Docklands flat.

"No problem, so have I actually," he replied, turning to look at her and putting his hand out towards her. Jo turned at the same time and his hand met her boob.

"Woops, sorry." 

Smiling, she said. "That's ok."

"Is it really?" Barry replied, not moving it.

They kissed and he caressed her breasts. That seemed to create an unsaid, implicit agreement between them to fuck soon.

And they did, the following Saturday evening, when he cooked dinner for Jo at his house in Petts Wood, just over the river Thames and down a bit from where Jo lived. 

She wasn't travelling much at the time as she very involved with architects and builders on two new clubs and the major refurbishment of another, all in London. That mean that, unusually for her, she was able to have regular sex, and over the next two weeks they had it three more times.

"Take all your clothes off and wait right there," Jo said, the following Thursday evening.

He was sitting on the long, six-seater, black leather sofa in Jo's Docklands flat. She had been planning this since the first time she and Barry had shagged, just over three weeks ago.

"Oh my God, Jo," he said croakily when she opened the door of her bedroom and stood in the doorway looking at him.

Smiling, Jo said. "Come this way big boy," as she opened her bedroom door wide. He needed no second bidding. Standing up naked, as she had said, he walked across the lounge, his eyes not moving from her all the way. Jo's didn't move from him either. She felt a tremendous surge of sheer lust, but also a sort of power as she watched him become fully erect on the short walk.

It wasn't just that she had turned the lights off and lit numerous aromatic candles that had caused his exclamation. It was what she was wearing. A black basque, black suspenders and black stockings.

Turning her back on the advancing man, she was delighted to hear him moan as he looked at her rear.

"Jesus Jo, that is some sight, you have a great arse."

She particularly liked that for she knew full well that she didn't. It was too big and wide, but hearing a compliment about her bum made her feel great. It was of course the outfit that did it. The back of the basque, the susupenders and the tops of her stocking formed a black frame, emphasising the womanly roundness and paleness of the two orbs. That, and the way that the basque pinched in her waist, making her hips look voluptuous created the vision that was so playing to Barry's fantasy. He was a total 'tits and ass man.' 

He came up behind her and stroked her bum. He put his arms round her and cupped her boobs as he pressed his erection against her cheeks. It felt good for both of them.

Barry edged Jo forward towards her bed. As he did that, he kept his erection pressed against her bum and his hands on her breasts, pinching, rubbing and squeezing. The mood and atmosphere for sex was building up nicely. They reached the bed; her shins were pressed against the fashionably low wooded frame. She went to turn round, but he stopped her, instead pushing her forward.

"Lay on the bed Jo, on your front," he whispered by way of explanation. That excited her.

She did. He lay beside her. He stroked her bum. Each cheek, the tops of her thighs the swell up from her waist and just inside the crease. He kissed and licked each cheek staring intensely at the twin globes of female flesh framed by the black silk, satin, elastic and nylon. His erection was throbbing, he couldn't remember being harder. Her hand found it.

"Mmmmm," he heard Jo whisper "That feels nice."

He gently pulled her cheeks apart. He ran his fingertips along it running them right across the puckered skin surrounding her 'forbidden' hole. The sensation was intense. Jo's body jerked and she let out a low moan. Barry slid his fingers between her legs and found her wetness. He rubbed her juices all over the skin outside her anus. 

Barry was dominating her. That was unusual for Jo. Normally she was in control, but somehow this seemed right, she was enjoying him directing events, doing as he directed and being the submissive one. What was causing it, she wondered, suddenly realising that her outfit had something to do with it.

"Open your legs a little," he said, quite firmly. She did. He kissed each cheek then, holding them well apart, he got his mouth between them. He licked the sides of the crease; he licked the top of it up towards her waist and the lower end between that and her vagina. He licked her everywhere making her shudder and moan as the gorgeous sensations permeated her entire body. And then he got the tip of his tongue right on it.

"Oh yes," Jo groaned as he pressed. 

His tongue slipped in, just a little way. Her body jerked and she moaned again. He took that as her agreement. He replaced his tongue with his finger whilst he reached up her body with his other arm to find her little tits.

Although she was not very experienced with anal sex, Jo had a very sensitive bum. Usually, though, she would stop a man now and would be cajoling him to attend to her even more sensitive place. Today though, due to the way things had developed it seemed appropriate for her to remain as she was and to let him continue; his earlier words "You have a great arse Jo" were ringing in her mind as she felt his finger opening her sphincter muscle.

"Oh my God," she groaned as he slid it up her. At the same time he was pumping his cock in the surrogate cunt provided by her hand and was squeezing and pinching her breasts. Jo was gaining sensations fro everywhere, or so it seemed.

He was now so aroused that he feared he would cum in her hand.

"You have to stop for a moment Jo, you'll make me cum," Barry explained moving his cock away from her hand.

He couldn't remember being quite as aroused as he was right now. Barry adored women's' arses, but found few women, not that he went with that many, who would let him indulge himself with that part of their body. Jo seemed to be the exception.

And she was, well today she was that is and again she wondered why?

He now had his finger past his first knuckle into Jo's arse. The pain as her sphincter expanded the wrong way had gone and given way to a dull ache and warm tingling sensation. She'd had a finger there before, but then she had been drunk, it was different, both emotionally and physically, being finger fucked up your arse when you was sober, she thought as Barry slid his finger further up her.

Her body, as if with a mind of its own, rose slightly from the bed, her legs opened a little more, she gripped the bed clothes, her eyes were tightly closed and her mouth was wide open as if she was fighting for air. It felt so different, so wild, dangerous and decadent; it went perfectly with the clothes she was wearing.

But then she felt empty. 'Fuck he's stopped,' she realised as his finger slid out giving her a sensation that she didn't wish to think about at a time such as this. Jo did, though, feel mildly disappointed. That however lasted for only a moment or two. 

She felt him moving, he was kneeling between her legs, his hands were on the front of upper legs, they were pulling, trying to lift her up. She went with the movement imagining the view she was presenting to Barry. Spreaded legs, wide-open pussy lips, her anus, which was still wet from her own juices and tingling from his finger, the stockings, suspenders and her basque: it was sordid, rude and so wonderful.

"No," was her involuntary whisper as she felt the tip of his cock nuzzling against her anus.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, considerately, she thought.

"Yes, no, I don't know," Jo moaned.

He pressed a little.

"Yes, no?"

"In the drawer to the right," Jo groaned.

"What?"

"Baby oil, put some on."

Barry's heart leaped when he realised she was going to let him, that Jo was up for it, that she was going to let him fuck her arse.

Jo had only been anally fucked once before and that hadn't been wonderful, 'So why the hell am I letting him fuck me there now?' She was asking herself, as Barry so easily, it seemed, slid the bulbous head of his cock inside her, there was some pain, but in the main, it was fine.

"Fuck me Barry," she moaned as she felt him edging further and further inside her.

It was so marvellously tight, he loved it. Slowly, desperately taking care not to hurt her, Barry slid his cock deeply into Jo's open, raised arse. He was nearly all the way in. She was moaning and writhing. He stopped for a moment then heard those wonderful words.

"Where Jo?" He asked "Where do you want me to fuck you?"

"In my arse, fuck me up my arse."

His legs rubbing against the smoothness of her stockings, his hands squeezing her breasts and running over the satin of her basque and his fingers occasionally pinging the elastic of her suspenders, Barry did just that. As he slowly, but deeply fucked Jo in the arse, he gave his wordless thanks to the sexy garment she was wearing. He was sure that had something to do with the marvellous present he was receiving.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 03



Ok, we are on to Part 3, of probably 10, already. We meet my friend Kate who finds such excitement and pleasure from a sexy bra and panty set she bought on the internet. She uses them for another internet interest as well!

This is the third story in my Power of Clothing Series. These, shorter than usual, for me, stories looks at how the clothes we wear influence and promote our sexual feelings and arousal.

It is part of a broader series examining how so many various things are part of our sexual lives.

As, particularly, this 'clothing series, flows from story to story, I strongly recommend that you read them in the Parts order.

Let me know your thoughts and any other ideas.



Chapter 1

Kate wiggled her hips as she looked in the mirror. At the same time, she pushed and pulled the pale grey lacy material of the delicate garment. She manoeuvred the panties so that they fitted snugly across her mound, which she thought, feeling slightly embarrassed, seemed very pronounced. 

She had positioned the moveable mirrors on her dressing table so that she could look in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe and see the reflection of her back or, more to the point, her bum. She saw the thin, two-inch wide band of lace round her waist and the slither that plunged downward to vanish between the cheeks of her bum. 

Walking around her bedroom in nothing but the thong, she was surprised at first at how uncomfortable it was. She was more surprised, though, at how sexy it made her feel. On balance, she could see why so many women overcame the discomfort to enjoy the sexiness!

She had never worn a thong before. She had never felt the need. Happily married for years before thongs were invented, she had until recently felt secure in their 'typical' marriage of a couple in their mid forties. Two kids, a nice house, two cars, reasonable financial security, lots of friends, a good social life and no real worries. Except boredom that is. Bored with doing nothing, contributing nothing and being nothing. Her friends bored her, her children did, although of course she loved them and now Paul, her husband, was starting to. He was also starting to ignore her, sexually that is. She was sure he was getting bored with the same old routine that had become their sex life as, indeed, she was as well. 

'But then, that's just how it is, isn't it?' She rationalised reaching behind to do up the clasp of the flimsy pale grey, matching bra she had bought on the internet, her new-found 'pastime' where she was becoming an avid user of chat rooms.

Not being the sort of woman just to let things go she was fighting back. Hence, 'playing' on the internet, hence, buying sexy undies and hence, the job she had just applied for and had been interviewed for yesterday.

Glancing at the clock, she was pleased to see that it was almost seven thirty, nearly time for Paul to come home. She slipped into her new silk, shorty dressing gown and fluffed up her hair, just as the phone rang.

"Hi babe, I'm not going to make it home for dinner," Paul said.

It wasn't an uncommon situation, for his job as Classified Ad Manager for a national newspaper entailed lots of entertaining. Kate wasn't annoyed, but she was disappointed; she wasn't upset, but she was frustrated. She'd been planning 'to seduce' her husband for some time, for she felt that the introduction of sexy undies might be the spark their sexual relationship needed to rekindle its fire.

Replacing the phone, Kate wandered back into her bedroom and again looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was a little overweight, but that was in right places she smiled, looking at her 34D tits and 37-inch hips. Ok there may be a little excess on the 'bum and tum', but overall she wasn't bad at all for her forty-four years and two kids.

"So what are you wearing, if I may ask?" Came up in the little window.

Kate was chatting to one of the few, well three actually, online chat friends she had made. He was in his early twenties and looked gorgeous on the cam he had shown her. She had found Dean easy to chat to. He was intelligent, interesting and not at all pushy like most; those she quickly put on ignore. From the start, they had flirted, but he hadn't asked her to meet him and, although they talked about intimate topics and he asked questions about what she was wearing, he hadn't, as many did, tried to persuade her to cyber with him.

She typed.

"A matching, pale grey bra and panty set and a dressing gown."

"Why is that? You must have known you were going to meet me lol"

"lol, no not that."

"What then?"

For some reason she couldn't fathom she'd previously told him that her and Paul's sex life wasn't going to well.

"I was wearing it for Paul, as a surprise."

"So why are you on here?"

She explained.

The invitation to view his cam popped up on her screen. Since the first time she'd viewed him a few weeks ago, she hadn't accepted any invitations. Deep down that may have been because she wasn't totally sure of her reactions. Her fingers were shaking as she reached out and pressed, 'accept.'

His picture came up on her screen. It was from waist up. He wasn't wearing anything.

"Are u naked?" Kate typed her mouth dry.

"Why do you want me to be?"

She hesitated. She looked down, the robe was gaping open, most of her breasts were on view. Her nipples were hard.

"Why would I want that?"

"Being disappointed by Paul, maybe?"

"Now, now Dean, I'm a respectable married woman."

"Yes, of course and one with normal needs Kate."

They chatted along those lines for s few minutes as he moved the cam up so it was just his head and shoulders on view.

"May I be totally honest Kate?"

"Yes of course Dean."

"You have made me hard."

"I'm sorry, why is that, well how I mean? I haven't done anything."

"It's the thought of that sexy body of yours in that sexy grey underwear, Kate."

She had sent him a photo of her in a swimsuit, so he had seen her body.

"Oh Dean," she mouthed to herself, as she typed.

"Come on, don't be silly, you're just trying to flatter me."

Slowly, tantalisingly so the cam started moving down. His bare, almost hairless tanned chest. His well-defined breasts and perky nipples.

"Tell me when to stop, Kate."

His lower chest, his waist, he stopped it when he was just showing his navel. And then it started again.

"I said tell me when to stop Kate."

It went beneath his waist. She said nothing. The flatness of his stomach appeared Still Kate didn't ask him to stop. The start of his curly pubic hair. Kate gulped as she felt her body reacting so strongly to this blatant display of male sexuality. The tips of his hand, his knuckles. He must be holding it and pointing it at the cam, Kate thought, her heart pounding, but still she didn't ask him to stop. She watched as he lifted his hand up and the tip of his obviously erect cock came into view. She meant to stop him, but didn't. He let go of his cock and she saw the bulbous end. Her fingers refused to type as she stared at the young man's fully erect penis. It really was awesome she thought as he ran his fingertips up and down, the tip. The cam panned down and moved away a little. Still she didn't ask him to stop. It went further down so that the entire length of his erection and his full round balls, were staring at her from the screen. It was a truly amazing sight for the forty-something-year-old woman to be staring at the erection of such a young, and she felt, beautiful young man. 

What can he see in me? She asked herself

"OK Kate?" Came up on the screen?

"Yes," she mumbled to herself and then typed that.

"Believe me now?"

"What?" She asked.

"About the thought of you in that underwear making me hard."

"Oh yes, I see, of course."

"It has as you can see."

"Yes."

"You can see can't you Kate?"

She didn't reply. Kate was now in a terrible conflict. On the one hand she felt awfully aroused, yet on the other, everything about the idea of cybering, as she knew it was called, appalled her. Surely, it was wrong, but then if that logic was followed, so was any form of masturbation. Whilst she was not a frequent masturbator, she, as with most women she thought and read about, occasionally indulged herself. Was it so wrong to gain a little help and have some visual stimulation?

"Yes Dean, yes I can."

"Is it ok?"

"Yes."

"Are you Kate, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes Dean I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She watched fascinated as he panned the cam up and down his body, showing her his face in close up, his hand and erection in close up and then both together. She had to admit to herself that he was magnificent and the vision on her screen was powerfully arousing.

"Are you aroused?" Came up on her screen. She couldn't bring herself to reply.

??????? Dean typed.

"Yes." She saw herself with amazement type.

"Are you nipples hard?"

Oh God this was awful, this was terrible, this was amazing, this was fantastic, she thought, pulling the gown open and lookinh down.

"Yes," she typed.

"Have you touched them?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"Oh Dean, I just don't know."

"It's not wrong Kate. If your body wants it, do it, take it, go for the moment; you will never have to meet me."

"I know."

Nothing happened for a while as Kate watched the young man stroking and softly rubbing his beautifully contoured cock.

"Do you like watching me?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Nothing for a while. He continued stroking and rubbing.

Her robe was open the lapels to the sides of her breasts, which felt so heavy and full. Her nipples were aching and pounding with want and desire. She couldn't stop herself. She cupped one of her heavy breasts, her finger and thumb finding her pulsating nipple, which she pinched. The sensations were gorgeous.

"Have you touched yourself, Kate?"

She half wanted to say no, but they had agreed never to lie to each other, that way, even though they would never meet, they would have a trusting online relationship.

"Yes."

"Your breasts?"

"Yes," she typed, watching the rhythmical slow pumping of Dean's hand on his erection. That excited her.

"Inside your bra?"

"No."

The cam panned back, it must be on some form of automatic device, Kate thought watching Dean smile encouragingly at her as, completely unselfconsciously about his aroused nudity, he masturbated himself in front of her.

"You ok with this Kate?" He asked in type, his eyes seemingly boring into hers.

Is this really happening? Kate asked herself as her fingers slid inside her bra and she watched her young online beau rubbing his delicious dick as she had just thought of it. And am I really typing, "yes" she wondered?

"Good, then I take it you are enjoying it?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good and are your hands now inside your bra, Kate?"

"Yes."

"Is it nice?"

"Yes, yes Dean, it is." Kate replied truthfully her fingers squeezing and pinching, the soft, sensitive and malleable flesh of her full, round, large breasts. And that was the truth, well almost, for the real truth she thought to herself using, for her, an uncharacteristic swear word. "It's fucking lovely."

"When did you last have sex?" He asked, seeming to offer his penis to her, by pushing it towards the cam.

"Weeks ago?"

"Does that include masturbating?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to take your bra off Kate?"

"Oh Dean, I really don't know."

"Kate, please don't do anything you aren't comfortable with. Would you like to stop?" He asked the cam panning upwards showing just his head and shoulders. "I really mean that, although of, course I would not be able to stop. You have aroused me so much; I will have to cum, with you or by myself."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, just say if you want me to stop or carry on with the cam."

Again, she could hardly believe what she was typing.

"Carry on."

"So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Take that lovely, pale grey, lacy bra off, for me."

Almost on a sort of autopilot, Kate reached behind her and unclipped her bra. She took it off.

"I have, it's off."

"So those lovely big tits are bare are they?" He asked seeming to rub himself faster and harder.

"Yes."

"Rub them and squeeze them Kate, make love to those lovely tits as you know I would if I was there."

She did that, she needed no further persuasion. It felt wonderful.

"I am."

"Do you wish I was there Kate?"

She didn't reply, she couldn't bring herself to type that she couldn't right at that moment think of anything in the world that she would like more than for him to be there and for him to fuck her. Instead, she typed.

"Yes."

"Would you like me to be there with this Kate?" Dean asked pushing his erection towards the cam.

"Yes," Kate typed with one hand, the other pulling and pinching her awfully hard nipples.

"And would you like to have this?"

Things were getting worse or, were they getting better? Kate was giving into her feelings, to what her body demanded, and to what her mind was now beginning to accept was acceptable.

"Yes Dean, I would," she typed squashing her breast sending such delicious sensations through her entire body. She was losing all resistance, all her inhibitions were drifting away, she was falling under Dean's spell.

"What would you want me to do with it, Kate?"

Almost furiously now caressing her breasts, she managed to type.

"I don't know."

"Come on Kate, don't be silly," came up as he pumped longer and faster his, what now to Kate was, beautiful cock in super close up on her screen. "Tell me baby, say it for me. Tell me what you want my cock to do to you."

She fought against saying it, she tried to resist, but her fingers now had as much as a mind of their own as her nipples, tits and clit and they decided to type.

"Make love to me."

"Oh yes Kate, I want to do that, but my cock wants something else."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you want my cock to do to you?"

She understood and typing. "Fuck me," seemed the most normal thing in the world.

"Say it again baby, please."

She found it easier this time.

"I want it to fuck me, Dean, I want to be fucked."

"Then, my lovely, you had better take those lovely lacy panties off hadn't you?"

And that is exactly what Kate did before masturbating herself and watching Dean cum as they enjoyed an awesome mutual climax.

Chapter

"Are you ok?"

"Yes," she typed back.

"Thank you Kate, that was wonderful," Dean said.

Kate was lying back in her chair, her panties round her ankles her bra on the floor beside her. She was watching the young man's erection subside; even flaccid it looked wonderful, she thought, smiling.

"Was it ok for you?"

"Yes Dean it was."

"Did you cum?"

"Yes, I did. That's the first time I have"

"Thank you Kate, I'm pleased."

"Why?"

"That I am your first, that I took your cyber virginity."

Kate smiled at the enthusiasm and passion of the youngster.

"You certainly did that."

"Mmmmm I am pleased."

"Oh shit." 

"What's the matter?"

"Paul's home, I have to go," she typed, quickly logging off, her mind in a whirr as to what to do.

She had heard his car in the drive so she knew she had a couple of minutes as he put the car away in the garage. Grabbing her bra, she pulled her knickers up, but only as far as her knees. Half running from the study to the bedroom she almost fell due to the panties round her knees. She used some wet whipes and dried herself before pulling her panties into place, shrugging into her bra. and squirtingd herself all over with perfume. Running back to the study, she grabbed the robe just as she heard Paul's key in the lock. As he came through the front door so, Kate, with her heart pounding, walked down the stairs.

"Hello darling, good dinner?" She asked.

"Yes fine, thought you would be in bed."

"I didn't feel tired," Kate replied walking down the last few step and across the hall to give her husband a peck on the cheek. "Fancy a drink?"

"What?" He asked, surprised at Kate's unusual question. She rarely asked such a thing, not being much of a drinker.

"You heard, let's have a glass of wine, tell me about your day."

Kate knew that Paul would wonder what was going on for she simply didn't behave like this. She knew that would raise his suspicions, but also knew that he wouldn't have any idea what to be suspicious about.

"Ok," he replied hesitantly, following her to the lounge wondering why she was wearing the shorty, silk, rather sexy dressing gown rather than her usual, white fluffy one.

Kate knew she had to do something to allay his suspicions and overcome the awkward situation. 'Dare I?' She thought, worried about potential rejection, despite it being her husband of so many years. "Dare I seduce him?"

"I'll have a white wine, please Paul," she said plonking herself down on the sofa. As he was pouring the drinks, Kate crossed her legs so that when he turned they were bare up to her thighs.

'What's she up to?' He thought, looking at his wife's legs. 'Not bad though are they?' He said to himself as he heard Kate say.

"Come and sit here Paul," patting the sofa beside her. He did.

She inched herself forward and turned towards him. In so doing, the lapels of the robe parted a little. She didn't adjust them as she completed the turn towards him. Kate held her glass out and touched his. "Cheers darling," she said pleased to see her husband's eye's stare down her front.

"Cheers," he replied, wondering if he was reading the signals correctly. 'Is she trying to get me to have sex?' He wondered, realising they hadn't had anything for weeks now. Paul knew it was his fault. He just seemed to feel too tired or when he felt like it, the situation didn't present itself. It wasn't as if he was unfaithful or anything. Ok he'd had a couple of flings years ago, but for the past ten or fifteen he had been totally faithful, despite many opportunities with his team of, largely, female media reps and at the conferences and other media junkets he had to attend.

He had always been a tit man and Kate had enough of that to satisfy anyone. 'Why go elsewhere when I have so much at home,' he usually thought, looking at the raunchy swell of his wife's boobs in the grey bra, which he hadn't seen before and which looked to be a size too small.

Girls who have big tits get used to them being stared at and become adept at noting a man's, or a woman's come to that, interest in them. And most women get to know when a man wants her. Kate was no exception, even though she had never been with another guy since meeting Paul, over twenty-five years ago. She saw that look now in her husband's eyes.

"I think I'll take this to bed with me," she said standing up.

Their marriage, though generally good had never been that open about sex. As things in that area had quietened down they just did not have the type of relationship where they could talk about it. Also, as both of them feared rejection, the longer they went between sexual encounters, the more difficult it became for either of them to make the first move.

Even as Kate sipped the large glass of Chablis feeling it pleasantly, almost immediately going to her head and making her feel bolder, she worried about whether she would be able to go through with the loose plane she had made. She wondered that particularly as she was concerned at Paul's reaction. She needn't have been, for she had the exact ammunition needed to 'fire his gun.'

"Oh God Kate, you look amazing," was the most welcome and relieving comment she heard when Paul came into the bedroom. The hand gently stroking her bottom as he sat beside her was the equally welcome and relieving gesture as he looked at his wife lying face down in the middle of their bed, her legs slightly parted.

"Mmmmm that's nice," she purred as his fingers slid inside the thong.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 03



"Where has this come from?" He asked?

"You like it then?" Kate replied, slightly wiggling her bum.

In reply, he kissed both cheeks of her bum.

He turned Kate over and stared at the pale grey, lacy lingerie moaning his pleasure and delight at how she looked as, between them, they struggled his clothes off.

Kate was surprised and pleased to see that already he was fully erect, something that nowadays didn't always happen. She couldn't help comparing the look of her husband's cock to that she had gazed at on the cam just half an hour or so before. Regrettably and rather guiltily, she had to accept that Dean's was longer, thicker and better looking. Paul's though had the huge advantage of being here and in her hands.

"So when did you get this stuff," Paul asked, his mouth sucking at her nipple through the bra.

"Recently, from the internet, mail order. You like it?"

"Shit do I!" He said lifting her breasts out of the cups and slobbering kisses, licks and bites all over her nipples and breasts, just as Dean had said he would do. Just as Kate had done when chatting to Dean, Paul slid his hand into her panties; he rubbed her clit and stroked her lips. Kate felt the same sensations that she had experienced just thirty minutes ago with another man, 'well a virtual one' she nearly giggled to herself as she gently pumped her husband's cock for him, as Dean had pumped his for her. There were so many similarities. The kissing, the stroking, the licking and the touching. The way Paul/Dean touched her and the way she touched Paul/Dean back. The things they did, the gestures, the body movements and the words.

There was only one thing that was significantly different. When the effects of her sexy lingerie became so intense on both of them, with Dean she had taken her panties off. Paul her husband didn't, he fucked his wife with her sexy panties still on, just pushed to one side.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 04



Again we are with Kate. Now, though, it is a completely different garment that creates the sexual atmosphere both for her and the man for whom she works.

If this is your first visit to my Power of Clothing series, I would strongly recommend you reading the previous parts, particularly Part 3, which introduces my friend Kate to the world of Literotica.

Chapter 1

They hadn't fucked, yet. Both of them, though, were beginning to think it was becoming inevitable.

Chapter 2

Kate had gone back to work. She had got the job she had been interviewed for the day she first had cybersex with Dean, something that now had become fairly regular. It was also the day she had worn the sexy underwear or 'erotic attire' as the website from which she had bought the gear, termed it. And it was also the day she displayed herself in that gear to her husband, with whom she had not had sex for nearly three months. Additionally, it was the day she had had sex with her husband. Full sex, just forty minutes after lying back in her chair, watching the naked, beautiful, young Dean masturbating himself as he wrote what he would do to her if they were together, as she made love to herself.

Kate was forty-something. She was relatively happily married with two children, a faithful, marriage and a good social life. They were financially secure, she wanted for nothing but one thing, some fucking excitement in her boring life.

That's why she had started surfing the net, why she had started using chat rooms and flirting with men on there. It was also why she had bought herself some sexy underwear, thongs, half-cup bras, French knickers and a couple of basques. It was the combination of the two that had caused that amazing evening to happen. 

She had slipped into the pale, grey lacy thong and bra ready to surprise Paul, her husband, but a business dinner had delayed him. Instead, she went on the net; her friend Dean was there. She explained what she was wearing, watched his cam, saw his gorgeous, naked erect cock and let him persuade her to cyber with him. Moments after they finished, Paul came home and she displayed herself to him in that lovely underwear. It had had the same effect on him as it had on her and Dean and she and Paul hade the best sex they had for ages. After, she smiled, not just the best, pretty much the only as well.

She had decided to go back to work to relieve the tedium. The job was only part time, after all a girl has to find the time for tennis, golf, shopping and lunching, doesn't she?

The job was a in a private clinic working for Dr. Stephen Masters a consultant psychologist. The job was called a Medical Assistant, but it was nearly all computer based admin and some phone work. Stephen was now so successful he rarely saw patients. Instead, cases were referred to him for him to comment and advise upon. At the same time, he was writing two books so, as he put it "Seeing patients is too much of a fucking pain."

He was in his early fifties, had fairly long, blonde hair going grey and was strikingly good looking. Over six feet tall he was, luckily, naturally slim. Kate could attest to him having a good physique for she saw him working out in the hospital gym three or four times a week. He could equally attest to Kate having a luscious body for he could hardly take his eyes off her when she was on the running and rowing machines or a bike.

Kate always thought of herself physically as being 'nearly.'She had, nearly shoulder-length, nearly naturally, blonde hair which, as part of her makeover, she was growing longe and making blonder. She was overweight, probably by eight to ten pounds, but she was curvy, some said voluptuous, that made her figure nearly spectacular. She was just five feet five, so a little on the short side, but that just made her curves more obvious. She had reasonable, nearly perfect from the knees down, legs, though as she called them, they were a little chunky on her thighs, a nicely rounded, sticky out bum, with just a touch of sag and a nearly flat tum, which after two kids at her age wasn't bad at all. The one thing she felt that there was nothing 'nearly' about was her tits. They were great, nearly spectacular, she sometimes smiled. Thirty four inches of delicious D cup glory was how Paul described them, well he had once, many years ago now.

Stephen was married. Happily? Yes he guessed so, and he didn't, well hadn't strayed, yet. He was rich. He earned well in excess of two million a year. His near aristocratic wife from an exceedingly 'proper' background had inherited a fortune from her grandparents and was in for an even larger one when her parents, who were both well into the eighties, kicked it. They had three children all of whom loathed them, they saw little of them. Stephen and Marcia had a 'small' five bed-roomed, Georgian house in Hampstead, a near country estate in Norfolk and a few other flats and houses littered around, Gstaadt, San Tropez and New York. Marcia tended to stay in Norfolk, Stephen in Hampstead with one or the other travelling at weekends, depending upon their social arrangements.

Stephen was an avowed tit man. How he came to marry a 32 A stick-insect of a woman, he couldn't fathom, either love or money, he guessed, but couldn't work out which.

Chapter 3

Kate and Stephen worked very closely together. She looked after all the computer stuff. There was were loads of complicated medical case studies and notes and some huge databases to look after, together with conducting most of the research for his two books. One of those was a clinical exposition on the causes of sexual neuroses, the other a raunchy novel, about a jet-setting doctor.

From the first day, they had hit it off. 

"Call me Doctor when we are working and Steve or Stephen when we're not," he had explained the first day, adding. "So it won't be doctor much."

Kate had smiled, liking his deep brown eyes and the slight, smile that seemed to be permanently on his face. He had smiled back, enjoying her green eyes, the way she frequently put her hand up to flick away a lock of hair that fell across her forehead. He found that sexy mainly, he acknowledged, because it stretched the rather baggy, dark blue, top of the tunic that all medical assistants had to wear, across her full breasts.

He was not employed by the hospital and as with most medical consultants he was freelance. He also worked a day or so a week in a NHS hospital, for free, wrote many articles, attended conferences, gave numerous speeches and sat on a number of committees, both medical and otherwise. Stephen had, she thought, a busy, but nicely organised life, for he pretty much worked the hours and days he chose, he only seemed to work at things he enjoyed and he and Marcia had six or eight weeks holiday a year. As well as Kate, his medical assistant, he also shared a secretary, who worked from a surgery he shared with several other doctors in Harley Street.

Had the company which owned the private hospital in Highgate where Kate worked not been taken over by a Danish consortium, things might have been so different; they both often looked back and thought. Had the new owners not have 'rebranded' nearly everything, had they not have introduced new uniforms and had they not have made all Medical Assistants wear those white coats, Stephen and Kate may just have remained, doctor and assistant.

It was just a month after she took the job that the take-over happened. "No big deal," Stephen explained to her after the MD of the company had made the announcement. "Nothing much will change for us."

He was correct in most ways. The work was the same, the processes and procedures changed a little and new signs with stylish logos appeared, but essentially, he was right, nothing much changed. That is until the Monday, a few weeks later, when the new uniforms were introduced.

The nurses had white trousers or skirts and blue tops, the supervisors had blues skirts or trousers and white tops and the medical assistants, white coats. That in itself didn't really change much. But in other ways it changed everything.

As Kate had tried the coat on at home, she had, at first, been quite pleased at her reflection. As she looked closer, though, what had been 'quite pleased' changed. She felt a little shiver of excitement. The coat was fairly tight, even though all of them had been carefully measured by the firm that made the uniforms. It ended just on her knee and had short lapels from the top button, which was just above her cleavage, to the thin collar. All fairly simple, straightforward and nothing to get your knickers in a twist about, she mused. There were three aspects of the coat, which did though, get her knickers in a twist. It had buttons all the way down the front, it had a wide blue belt round the waist, which felt like a corset and it was made of a very fine cotton, which meant that everything under it was slightly on show. 

Why either, or both of those got to her, she wasn't quite sure, but they certainly did. She smiled when she thought back to the evening she had first tried on her 'erotic apparel.' 'Maybe I should log on and chat to Dean?' She smiled. 

"Jesus, Kate," Stephen said that Monday morning when she came into the consulting room wearing the coat.

"What?"

"Er, nothing, it's fine. Nice new uniform."

They didn't see each other that much during the day, for he had meetings both in the hospital and with his publisher.

Kate couldn't help looking at herself in the mirror in the private bathroom several times. The coat simply made her feel sexy. Seeing the outline of her 'ordinary' underwear, feeling her waist being pulled in and seeing her curves, which were exaggerated by the tightness of the belt, aroused her. She undid a few buttons at the top so that her cleavage was revealed. She undid some buttons beneath her waist and took a stride so that her inner legs right up to her thighs were show. God that turned her on!

Stephen was in meetings most of the day and had no real need to go back to the hospital. His mind, though, had been filled time and time again during the day with visions of Kate in that white coat; he just had to see more.

"Oh, I didn't think you would be back today, Doctor," Kate said when he opened the consulting room door. She was tidying a filing cabinet with her back to the door. She turned her head and upper body towards him.

"Hey Stephen when we're not working, right?"

"Are we not working then?" Kate asked, extremely aware of his eyes boring into her back.

Stephen smiled as he looked at Kate, seeing the outline of her the leg elastic of her full, high-waisted panties and her bra strap. As she was reaching into the top drawer of the cabinet she had to stand on tip toe. That stretched the coat and made the hem ride up the back of her legs, some six inches or so above her bare legs, which still carried the tan from her week's golf in Portugal in late September.

"No, I've been a writer all day today," he replied walking across to stand close to her.

"Successfully?" Kate asked feeling vibrations from him to her, as she turned and face him.

"So, so," he replied trying to be not too obvious in staring at the vague outline of Kate's bra and the swell of her breasts inside the white coat.

Chapter 4.

"Kate you look absolutely awesome," came up on her screen.

She stared at the screen, which was now filled with Dean's hand holding his erection. They had not only become onscreen lovers, but also confidants. He told her about the girls he was chasing and the one he was shagging. She told him about her Stephen and the coat. 

Since that first time, Kate and Dean had cybered fairly regularly, about once a week. They also chatted a lot and had become good friends. She didn't do it with anyone else. With some persuasion from Dean she had bought a cam and now when they chatted they could see each other. 

Undressing and masturbating in front of the cam watching Dean as she did, was highly embarrassing at first, but now she was used to it. Hence, when he asked to see the coat she had needed little persuasion.

"Do me a favour Kate?"

"What?"

"Go and take your underwear off and put the coat back on."

"Oooo, you sure?" She asked, immediately feeling a strong surge of arousal.

Of course he was sure and of course Kate did it. She felt fantastic doing the coat up, looking in the mirror as it moulded itself to her breasts.

"Oh my God, that's amazing, put your hands behind your head," Dean typed pumping his cock with long steady strokes.

"Mmmmm gorgeous, I can see the outlines of your nipples, they are getting hard now, Kate."

She knew that and she could just about see it on the little monitor.

"Turn round for me Kate?"

"Bend over, try to touch your toes."

"Face the cam again, undo more buttons."

"Top or bottom?"

"Both."

She undid some buttons so that the bottom was undone to a couple of inches below her pussy and the top to half way down her cleavage, which was quite wide due to the lack of support.

"Fuck me, that's fantastic. Rub your tits in the coat."

She did, it felt lovely.

"Now inside it."

She did it felt even lovelier.

"Kate I am going to have to cum, are you near."

"Yes," she groaned, pulling the hem of the coat up until it was round her hips.

"Oh you dirty, sexy bitch," he wrote.

"I am a slut aren't I?" She asked rubbing her clit furiously as the waves of orgasm broke over her just as her cybertoyboy's cock exploded shooting his spunk in the air.

Chapter 5.

"Unusual for you, Stephen," Marcia said as he reached over and cupped her tiny, almost nonexistent breasts in bed that night "During the week?"

"Well you know me Em, unpredictable as always."

"That's true," Marcia replied, wondering what was causing her husband's ardour, for she doubted it was her.

They kissed and she reached down and found his near full erection. That confirmed her belief that there was something else making him randy. 

She had few illusions about their marriage. She knew that they were good friends, but nowadays little else than occasional lovers. She doubted they would ever divorce, but knew if there ever had been any real magic, it had long gone. Whether he was faithful or not held little interest to Marcia. She was, as she termed it to her therapist and some close friends, 'generally faithful with occasional lapses.' These tended to be with younger men, especially ski instructors or golf coaches, and two ladies with whom she dallied now and again. In fact, as she got older, Marcia found herself being drawn more and more towards other women, a habit she had acquired at the all girls college she had attended. She had one 'friend' in particular who gave her the best sex she had ever experienced. She was a corsetierre, who had a business in Brighton making made to measure corsets. Whilst Marcia felt no need to own or wear one herself, she understood the appeal, for her friend, Greta a full on lesbian, had explained all about it one time as they lay in each other's arms after sex.

Even though, overall, she now preferred the soft gentleness of women, she still appreciated a hard cock, and that was something Stephen had in spades.

"Mmmm, now that's a lovely boner, where's that come from?" She asked, rubbing it and shoving her tongue down Stephen's throat.

"Oh here and there" he replied tweaking her nipple and making her gasp with the sudden pain.

"Nothing to do with that big titted new assistant you've got then?" She mischievously asked just as Stephen's finger slid into the cheek of her bum.

"What makes you say that?"

"I know how you like big tits and she's got them in abundance, I'm told." Marcia said cupping and squeezing her husband's balls, quite firmly.

"So I believe?" He replied a vision of Kate in the white coat filling his mind. 

He never ceased to be surprised at just how much Marcia knew of what went on at the hospital, but then her family had owned a goodly portion of the company and had just got even richer when the Danes bought it. She had a good network of spies, he always thought, with that being confirmed when Marcia went on to say.

"And I hear she, or should I say they, look spectacular in that new uniform" Marcia said guiding her husband's erection towards her waiting pussy.

As Stephen slid into the familiar wetness of his wife's vagina, he had Kate in his mind. That was emphasised and exacerbated by Marcia groaning as she started to cum.

"I bet you would like to fuck big tits, with her bent over your desk, that coat rolled up round her waist, her big arse up in the air quivering like her tits as you bang her cunt hard, wouldn't you?"

Chapter 6

Most of the other medical assistants were younger than Kate, so they had termed her 'aunty.' 

The white coat uniform had been in use for a week or so when they were sitting round at lunch in the excellent staff restaurant recently provided by the new owners. They were chatting about them and how things had changed with the general consensus being 'much for the better.'

"And what do we think of this?" A tall willowy, slim blonde asked, holding the lapel of her uniform.

"What your tit?" Kelly, a short sturdy looking Liverpudlian asked.

"No, the uniform," Charlotte said.

Again the general consensus was that it was good.

Fiona, a rather posh 'sloany' type piped up.

"Have any of you found it mildly sexual at all?"

Kate felt herself blushing.

"Why have you?" Kelly asked.

"Well not exactly, but my husband loves it."

"How do you mean?"

"Well he gets me to wear it as we go to bed and then he fucks me in it."

"Bloody hell, I'll have to take it home then and see it it affects my old man like that," Kelly laughed.

The conversation turned to other topics, but after a while returned to the white coat.

"It is a bit see through isn't it?" Kate offered.

"Yes darling, especially when you have some cargo like yours to stretch it, nicely." Charlotte smiled back staring at Kate's boobs.

"Anyway, we wanted to chat about that and maybe ask them to make from a heavier material," Kelly said. "I get fed up flashing me knickers and I hate VPLs."

"VPLs?" Kate asked.

"Visible panty lines aunty," Fiona explained.

"Oh yes, sorry."

"And on that subject," Fiona continued, "You are quite prominent Kate."

"Am I? Aren't you lot then?

"No, look," Kelly said standing up, "Come on girls let's show aunty."

The four of them stood with their backs to Kate and all bent forward a little.

"See, no VPLs." Charlotte said.

"Almost looks like no panties," Kate quipped.

"Now that sounds a good idea, especially if you work for the scrumptious Stephen." Kelly laughed.

"We all wear thongs, Kate, except you."

"Oh I see."

Kate hadn't entered the 21st century as far as girly underwear was concerned. She still wore her 'sensible' stuff for work and reserved her 'special' gear for seducing her husband and wearing for Dean. She realised that she needed to change.

Chapter 7

Pretending to read a case paper as Kate walked from her PC to the photocopier and back, Stephen's eyes didn't leave Kate's body for a moment when she wasn't looking. Her bum, particularly, seemed to draw his gaze like a magnet. It seemed slightly fuller, it wobbled more, there were no grooves or lines under the coat and, he had thought when he saw it for the first time this morning, 'she looks fucking naked under it.'

As he created 'ogling opportunities' during the day, he realised that she wasn't pantyless, but was wearing a thong. As with most men, he didn't like full, Bridget Jones' type knickers, but he wasn't sure he would have been able to handle no knickers. Even then when he had worked out that Kate was wearing a thong he had got a hard on.

Kate felt 'tingly' all that day working with Stephen. They had a number of tasks where they had to work closely together and several times they had to sit looking at her PC screen; several times their arms or legs touched. For both of them, though unknown to the other, they were like electric shocks.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 04



As Kate moved round the office, sat at her chair or, particularly, stretched upwards or bent forward, she was acutely aware of Stephen's eyes on her, although, of course she didn't let him know that. Usually, when a guy ogles a girl, as he was her, it's not a comfortable feeling, the girl feels invaded and slightly demeaned. However, as he visually interrogated every inch of her body inside the coat, particularly her bum she noted, quite pleased for she felt it was oversized, Kate felt far from being demeaned. His surreptitious stares aroused her. She found that she was creating opportunities to move around, to turn her back on him, to bend over showing him no VPL at all and to stretch so that her boobs were emphasised.

At home later that afternoon, she told Dean about her morning with Stephen and once more went on cam with him, once more wore the white coat and once more cybered with him. This time, though, it was Stephen who was in her mind as Dean helped her cum, very hard.

Stephen had his last glance at Kate's bum as she went through the door at three looking over her shoulder as she said. "See you tomorrow doc, er Stephen."

He was sure there was an extra wiggle to her hips causing even more hard on inducing wobbles to the two symmetrical cheeks of her bum, as she sashayed, almost, through the doorway. Sitting in his office chair, Stephen closed his eyes. He pressed the remote control locking his door. Kate was in his mind, the image of her leaving the office, the cotton stretched tight across her bum, each cheek completely smooth and unadulterated by anything as menial as a pair of knickers. As he visualised doing precisely what his wife had described, so his fingers found and undid his zip. Fumbling the tails of his shirt and the folds of his pants aside, he slid his trousers down to his thighs. He was thunderingly hard. It felt good in his hand; he enjoyed wanking. He especially enjoyed it when he had a specific woman in his mind as he did now with the naked Kate whose awesome, well in comparison to Marcia's, tits he was sucking and chewing. Just like Dean, Stephen fucked Kate as she was still wearing the white coat. The only difference being he did it from behind with the hem turned up round Kate's waist.

He felt slightly embarrassed sitting in that chair where he had masturbated when Kate arrived the next day. Again, there was no VPL. Again, he stared at every opportunity and again Kate gave him every chance to do that. This happened for the rest of that week. It was becoming a sort of game, no more a ritual. He would come out of his office to where Kate worked and read a case paper or a proof from his publishers. 

She knew there was no need for him to do either of those things there, he could perform those tasks equally well in his office, or at home come to that.

"Do you want me to update the database today, Doctor?" Kate asked.

"Not Doctor, Stephen please."

"But we're working."

He stood up, they were just a few feet apart, her breasts seemed like beacons beckoning him. How he stopped himself from reaching out for them he didn't know. As Stephen stood up, Kate suddenly thought, he's going to make a pass. She panicked. She didn't know what to do or what she wanted. She was a faithful wife, wasn't she?

"Are we Kate, working?"

'Touch me, hold my breasts, kiss me,' one part of her was saying.

"Yes, I thought so."

"Did you, did you really?" He asked as they looked into each other's eyes, the atmosphere between them became laden with expectation.

Kate was saying yes when his phone rang.

The 'hello darling' and cozy chat he started with his wife made her feel slightly jealous. Kate went for a coffee in the restaurant.

Life for both them, in work and out, took on a pattern.

Kate 'spoke' to Dean about every other day. She told him about her innermost thoughts and the anguish she was going through, not just about what they were doing on the net, but more with her feelings for Stephen.

"Look do you want him to fuck you?" He asked.

"Yes and no."

"Like having sex on here with me, part good part bad."

"Yes."

"You want the experience of sex with another man, but don't want to cheat on Paul, right?"

For his age, he has such mature and sensible thoughts, Kate thought as she unclipped her bra while he watched her on the cam. Undressing and fucking herself as Dean watched, came easily to her now. She still, though, hadn't even been tempted to use her cam with anyone else.

Stephen was having more frequent sex with Marcia than for several years. Each time they shagged, she brought up Kate, or big tits as she called her; it was a neat diversion and added a dimension for both of them. Whilst she guessed that as Stephen had her, he was imagining it was Kate, she was pretty sure that he didn't guess that she was also imagining that she was having sex with 'bigtits.'

Chapter 8

In the consulting rooms their game, their ritual was becoming more intense, more obvious and more flirtatious. Inadvertently, a couple of weeks ago, Stephen had said rather absentmindedly.

"Thank you nurse," when Kate had given him a file.

"Nurse?" She had said surprised.

"Oh sorry Kate."

"That's ok," she replied realising that when she had leaned forward to hand him the file the white coat had gaped.

"The view got me all flustered," he said flashing her a broad smile, which sent s tremor of excitement through her.

"Men," she snorted. "A nurse's uniform and they all become like little boys."

"I wasn't talking about the uniform."

"Really?" 

"No Kate," he said, pointedly looking at her chest. "I think you know what I was talking about." 

"Maybe?" She replied turning away from his desk and once more feeling flustered and worried, yet hoping that he was about to make a pass. 

"And," Stephen said looking at the fantastic view of her delicious arse under the thin cotton, which she was wiggling, possibly more than was necessary. "Not little boys either Kate."

"No," was all she could manage before opening the door and going outside as quickly as she could. She was breathing heavily and felt so hot as she sat at her desk and logged on. She checked her business and then her personal e-mails, smiling when she saw there was one from Dean.

"I'll be on this afternoon and need you badly. Any chance? Have you fucked Stephen yet? Dean xxx"

That didn't help her breathing or the hot flush.

During the next few days, his staring and her 'posing' became more overt, more frequent and more provocative, just as their chat became more open and pointed.

The day would start with.

"Good morning nurse," when Kate came into the suite in her 'civvies.' 

She would reply, "Good morning doctor."

Stephen would then usually ask. "Is the nurse going to get changed then?"

Kate would smile and ask. "And what would the doctor like the nurse to change into?"

"I can't tell you what I would like you to change into so let's settle for that white coat shall we?"

Kate would then go the changing room, slip into the coat and return to the suite.

Stephen would then ask something like. "Has the doctor told the nurse how nice she looks in that tunic?"

Kate would retort with something along the lines of. "Yes I think he has, but she's quite happy to hear it again."

"Well then I hope the nurse also won't mind the doctor looking at the nurse in the coat?"

"Oooo, I am sure she won't, doctor."

"Then maybe, nurse, you should give the doctor a twirl?

Kate obligingly would then slowly turn round loving the feeling of Stephen's eyes devouring her.

All a little bit juvenile, all rather cautious and all said in a way that didn't make a commitment. They were both so torn. Each felt an enormous desire for the other, but both had relatively satisfactory marriages and both were faithful.

At various time during the day when he would return from a meeting or come out of his office, Stephen might say. "I think it must be time for another twirl, or something, don't you nurse?"

He would usually say this when Kate was sitting at her desk and he was standing up looking down. Although she religiously made sure that all the buttons were done up, she knew the lapels gaped a little and that he would be looking at her cleavage. She would reply with something like.

"Or something, what's that?"

Today, when she said that, Stephen, beaming her that devastating broad smile replied, rather huskily.

"Well perhaps an extra button or two undone."

Those words sent a rush of excitement through her, but somehow she managed to maintain her composure.

"Would that be the top or bottom, Doctor, or one of each?"

"One of er um yes that'll be fine Kate," Stephen said as there was a knock on the door and Brian Millen the Managing Consultant walked in.

They went into Stephen's office giving Kate the chance to compose herself, before they both came out and walked towards the main door. Stephen looked at her and winked.

"I'll be back in ten minutes or so Kate, don't forget what we agreed will you."

Smiling, Kate mouthed. "Top or bottom?" Behind Brian's back, Stephen mouthed "both."

Kate wasn't sure what to do. She was caught up in the teasing excitement of their flirting, but didn't want to appear too forward. Also she was scared where this might lead. 'Two buttons, are they the thin end of a wedge?" She asked herself, idly fiddling with the top button.

The door opened ansd Stephen came in his eyes immediately going to the top of her coat. He saw that her fingers were holding the button. Closing the door, he walked across to her and clicked the remote control lock. They didn't speak, but simply stared at each other. Stephen nodded. Kate could hardly believe that simply slipping a button through a buttonhole could be such an erotic movement, but as she made that movement it felt as raunchy as anything she had ever done. Odd.

"Mmmm, very nice nurse."

"Thank you doctor," Kate replied looking down and seeing her cleavage, which she knew his eyes were devouring.

They now kept the door permanently locked. That wasn't unusual amongst the consultants, so it raised little or no suspicion. Over the next week or so there were several more similar situations, culminating in Kate permanently having the bottom and top two buttons of the coat undone. As she walked, so Stephen would see half way up the inside of her thighs and as she sat, so he could see half way down her cleavage. They were both permanently in states of semi arousal. Things were hotting up.

Still neither could make the final move, take things to the next level or make the ultimate gesture that said, 'let's fuck.'

Kate agonised about it in her mind and discussed it at length with Dean, as she more frequently, pretty much every day now, stripped off for him and masturbated as they watched each other on their cams.

"Kate that's fantastic," Stephen said.

"What, what's fantastic?" She asked.

"That," he said nodding at her breasts.

She looked down. "What?" 

Clicking the remote control lock he said. "Come and look," as he took her hand and led her into the small bathroom. He stood her before the mirror, with him to one side and switched on the overhead light.

"Oh Christ," she muttered, realising she had put one of her thin, diaphanous bras on, the type that shouldn't be worn under thin cotton. The shadow of her areola were quite obvious and even as they both looked at them, so her nipples hardened. That was when the long-awaited pass did happen.

Chapter 9

As they stared into the mirror, it was as if time stood still, as if they were outside their bodies looking at themselves, as if it was a film.

They watched the amazing sight of Kate's nipples expanding and pushing against the fine, thin cotton. They watched the equally amazing sight of Stephen's hands reaching round her. To him it was as if they had a mind of their own. He didn't have to think whether he should do that, he didn't have to wonder what Kate might think and he didn't have to pluck up courage. Something that he couldn't define, but which they both felt, told Stephen it was the right thing to do. Now was the perfect time the appropriate moment, the suitable situation for him to put his arms round Kate and cup the delicious tits that he had been lusting for since he had first seen Kate.

Kate had similar feelings. Right at that moment there was nothing in the world she wanted more than Stephen to fondle her breasts. They seemed so full and heavy and her nipples were aching from the intense pressure of her arousal. Yet at the same time, she was scared, just as he was worried. Their mutual concern was where would this lead? Neither was experienced in affairs, although Stephen occasionally went to a massage parlour or, when away on business, hired an escort and Kate of course had cam sex with Dean. The enormity of becoming emotionally and sexually entangled and involved scared the life out of both of them.

"Oh Stephen," Kate gasped leaning back against him, but doing nothing to resist or deter him. The sensations he was giving her were simply too wonderful to even contemplate stopping.

"Kate, Kate," he whispered back kneading her pliant and so willing flesh.

"We shouldn't, we should stop," she whimpered.

"Yes, yes we should," he murmured back yet, at the same time slipping another button undone.

Kate could feel his erection pressing into her bottom. He was so hard, 'just like Dean' she thought as unconsciously she wiggled her bottom against it.

His hands slid inside the coat, they went straight inside her bra, right onto her warm, smooth, throbbing bare breast flesh.

"Shall I stop Kate? Do you want me to?"

Chapter 9

"No of course we didn't stop," Kate typed later that afternoon when she was at home and logged into messenger.

"How far did you go?" Dean enquired, rubbing the very obvious bulge in his Calvin Kleins.

"As far as this," Kate typed, lifting each of her boobs out of the cups.

"Were your nipples as big and as hard as they are now?"

"Yes, harder and bigger," she said pinching one.

"Is that nice?"

"Yes."

"Was it when he did it?"

"Of course it was, it was amazing."

"Pan the cam down a bit," Dean asked as Kate caressed her breasts and pinched and pulled her nipples.

"You aren't naked then?" He asked when the cam showed she was wearing jeans 

"No."

"And you weren't with Stephen?"

"No."

"So you didn't fuck then?

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"We don't know."

"How will you find out?" Dean asked slipping his boxers down.

He was, of course, as usual fully and beautifully erect.

"Did you see him like this?"

"No."

"Would you like to?" He asked as he started to pump his cock.

"I don't know."

"So what will you do?"

"We are going to go out to dinner tomorrow and discuss it?"

Chapter 10.

For the first time, there was a strain between them when Kate arrived at work the next morning.

His first words were not what had become the normal ones about the nurse. Instead, he said.

"Are you ok for this evening?"

"Yes, yes I am,"

"Good and Kate, I am sorry about yesterday."

"No don't be, I told you it was what I wanted, didn't I?"

"Yes you did," he said moving over to where she was standing. "And it was what I wanted as well."

"Oh God, Stephen," Kate groaned as he put his hand on her elbow. 

She slid into his arms as he clicked the remote control lock.

"I know Kate, I know. Well I don't" he whispered, pulling her to him.

They kissed, deep and long.

"What are we going to do?" Kate said quietly, revelling in the feeling of his erection blatantly and unashamedly pressing into her tummy.

Just before he kissed her again, Stephen whispered.

"This?" As his lips closed over hers and his hand found her breast.

"Mmmm," she moaned.

Stephen was so aroused. He had hardly slept last night. Marcia was away on some golf thing or some other junket and he had paced the house thinking of Kate and the future. Was there one? It was around two when he masturbated and past three when he eventually dozed off.

He fumbled the buttons undone and plunged his hand inside. Without asking or hesitating, he pulled her breasts out from her bra. They kissed more. Kate was holding his head, running her hands through his hair and up and down his back. They were grinding their bodies together, her pubic mound squirming firmly against his strainingly hard cock.

Stephen couldn't stop himself. He knew it was wrong, daft and inappropriate, but there was no way he could resist. Reaching behind Kate he caressed her bum before slipping his hand further down and edging it under the hem of the coat. He pulled it up and up until it slid over her bum. The feel of the bare flesh of the cheeks of her bum was gorgeous. Equally, the feel of his hand on her bum was incredible to her. It was something no man other than Paul had done for so long

Suddenly Kate came to her senses. She pushed him off.

"No Stephen, this is wrong, not here, I can't."

Kate pushed the bottom of the coat down and stood before him doing the buttons up.

"Sorry Kate, I shouldn't"

"Shush," she replied. "We're in this together."

"We have to talk."

"We will tonight."

"I can't wait, we have to talk now."

"We can't here, I don't feel comfortable."

"Come to Hampstead then?"

"Your home?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't do that."

"Then let's go to a hotel. I'll book a room, we can be alone, have lunch and talk."

"I have to work, you know."

"Nurse you can take the day off, come with the doctor."

They agreed that Stephen would book a hotel and would call Kate with the details and the room number. Although she worked flexible hours and no one would miss her for the rest of the day, it was not considered appropriate for them to leave together.

Stephen left and Kate changed into her 'civilian' clothes, tight, blue jeans, a white tee under a blue, cashmere vee kneck and a short sleeveless bomber jacket. No more than an hour later, Kate was in a cab on her way to a superluxury Mayfair hotel. She was as nervous as hell as she walked through reception, she smiled thinking, 'Just like a hooker.' There was no need, for it was a breeze and she was quickly knocking on the door. As Stephen opened it and she slipped inside, she realised that the nerves were not restricted to her entrance. Being alone with him in a hotel room was even more nervous. 

They kissed. It wasn't quite like it had been in the consulting rooms, for either of them.

"Are you ok, Kate?"

"Yes, a little nervous."

"Just a little?"

She smiled. "Actually I am incredibly nervous, I have never done anything like this."

"Nor have I?" Stephen told her, ignoring the numerous escort girls he had used over the years. He walked over to a table. "I ordered champagne."

"It's a little early for me," Kate advised.

Stephen had completely forgotten the time. He looked at his watch, it was 10.30 am. "Mmmm, yes I see what you mean. Coffee or tea perhaps?" He ordered coffee and croissants which arrived no more then ten minutes later. 'Amazing what you get for two hundred and fifty a night,' Kate smiled having seen the rates on the inside of the door.

The sat side by side on a plush sofa and chatted. Occasionally, Stephen would touch her wrist and once he put his hand on her knee. In the main, though, they talked, something they hadn't really done since this amazing thing had started. They told each other of their inexperience at 'being unfaithful' and of the states of their marriages, both of which were 'Ok, but not marvellous.' Neither, however, were of the level where they wanted to end them.

As they mutually tried to get to grips with what had happened to them, their chat became more intimate and personal. They acknowledged that each of them: was bored in their relationship; was looking for more; wanted new experience; had been attracted to the other and had been and was very tempted to take things further.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 04



The conversation drifted on to many topics with both of them finding pleasure in the similarities with their belief, interests and ambitions. It went on and on. 

Around one, they did open the champagne and just after three they ordered lunch. They had wine with that.

They were now talking like old friends. They returned to the sofa, Stephen fiddled with the large plasma and selected a melody radio programme with videos. They got onto the topic of having an affair.

"Would you like to?" Stephen asked.

"I really cannot say," Kate replied. "I'm not sure I could handle the subterfuge, making the excuses and telling all the lies both to Paul and the kids."

"That's what worries me," Stephen agreed. "But don't you think Kate, we may be missing out on something wonderful and marvellous?"

"Yes of course, darling, woops where did that come from? Sorry." 

He laughed. "Don't be sorry," He put his hand on Kate's shoulder and added very seriously "It was lovely to hear."

"Really?" She asked the mood hitting her as well, for she felt serious too.

"Yes really, silly," he said leaning towards Kate. 

Still with his hand on her shoulder he moved his face closer and closer. Physically, it would have been the easiest thing for Kate to move and avoid him. Emotionally, it would have been difficult to the point of being impossible. They kissed again. Deep, long and passionately. Slowly Stephen moved nearer, his arms went round her, one round her neck the other beneath her arm. Her arms snaked round his neck, her hands delving into his thick hair. He pushed her, she yielded and slowly they sank back into the corner of the sofa. Stephen was half on top of her, his erection was pressed against the outside of her upper thigh. Their mouths were tightly clamped, their lips and tongues squirming and delving. 

After the discussions, which had reached no conclusions other than the agreement that they were seriously attracted to each other, the rules were unclear. Unlike the past few weeks and, especially the last few days, in the consulting rooms, where his position as the ogler and hers as the model had become fairly defined, now they were starting afresh.

So, as Stephen edged his hand upwards towards Kate's breast, he was unsure how it would be received. As Kate felt his fingers on her boob, she wasn't sure how to react. In the end, which was only a few seconds, they reacted as lovers usually do. He pressed and squeezed and she arched her back and squirmed a little. He asked and she said yes. But to what they wondered as they both revelled in the lovely sensations. 

With the mutual stimulation on her breast and his hand, the kiss became deeper and more passionate. Their bodies joined in. Stephen pulled on her back, Kate pushed her front, and their chests pressed tightly together, Kate's breasts being squashed delightfully against her ribs. 

Stephen was so erect it was almost, but not quite, painful. He moved a bit so that his cock was squashed against the top of her thigh, a little towards the more sensitive inside, the end of it alarmingly and at the same time wonderfully, near to her pussy. The sensation and the realisation of how close it was to her most feminine place made her mind whirr with the possibilities of what could happen next and her body jumped with the surge of pleasure it gave her. It did similar things to Stephen who was, as they continued kissing and as his hand gently squeezed and kneaded her fabulous breasts, imagining being inside her.

He wanted more, he needed more, but still wasn't sure. In their earlier long chats as the champagne, lunch and wine had loosened them up they hadn't got on to whether they would fuck or not. They hadn't felt able to broach the topic, they were both too confused.

Stephen wanted to see and feel her bare breasts again. It was as if he was being compelled to do that. He moved his hand away from her boob outside her clothes and rested it on her hip. He slid his other arm round her, his hand going inside the blouse, which had slipped out from the waistband of her jeans. He felt her soft, smooth skin just above her waist. He ran his hand upwards and slipped his fingers inside her bra strap. God how he wanted to unclip that and pull the cups away from her gorgeous orbs. His instincts, however, advised him not to. Kate, though, loved the feel of his fingertips on her back and felt a little shiver go through her as he 'fondled' her bra strap, before sliding his fingers downward and inside the back of her jeans to then 'fondle' the other part of her intimate apparel, the elastic waistband of her thong.

Kate was totally torn. She had such strong feelings for him, stronger by far than any she'd had in the few modest crushes she'd had on men since her marriage. They had all been easy to control and were completely in her mind, this was the first where physical contact of any type had taken place. She was enormously aroused. Dean's words of advice, 'fuck him and worry about the consequences after,' were going through her mind and she did want, no needed, to be fucked so badly. Her lover's instincts took over. She undid the buttons on his shirt, slipped her hand inside and ran her fingers over his, surprisingly hairy chest. She had never been with a man with a hairy chest, Paul's was nearly bereft of hair; she wondered just what they would feel like against her nipples and breasts.

As one of his hands wiggled inside the seat of her jeans pressing and rubbing her just above her bum, which he couldn't reach because it was squashed against the sofa, she felt the other moving from her hip. She felt it on her waist, then just above it, then on her chest and then magically and so worryingly right on her breast. His fingertips were above the edge of her bra on the swell of her breast. It was lovely and she squirmed herself against his hand. At the same time, she or Stephen moved, for somehow he was right on top of her. His erection was firmly squashed right against her pubic mound pressing on her hooded clit.

The enormity hit her first.

"No Stephen," Kate groaned. "This isn't right, it's not a good idea."

"You're right, I'm sorry, it's all my fault," he replied removing both his hands from her body and sitting up.

"No it's our fault, just as much mine as yours."

"I want you so much Kate, you know that."

"Yes darling," Kate replied sitting up next to him and running her fingers through his hair. "And I want you, but I am so scared."

"I know, I know," he replied putting his hand on her leg, just above her knee.

Looking right into her eyes he mumbled. "I cannot get that vision of you in the mirror in the bathroom out of my mind.

"Nor me."

"You looked so amazing, your breasts are awesome."

"Oh Stephen."

"I so wanted to see them again."

She cuddled him, but neither spoke for a while.

After a few moments, he whispered, as he ran his hand up and down her inner leg, almost to her crotch.

"Is that wrong Kate?"

"No Stephen it isn't."

"And is it wrong for me to want to see the rest of you?"

Kate's resolve was slipping, his words were arousing her even more.

"No," she whimpered.

"And Kate, I do."

"Do what Stephen?" She asked slipping her hand back inside his shirt.

"I want to see you naked Kate."

"Oh God Stephen."

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he gently squeezed Kate's thigh.

"That's ok, please don't be sorry, I would like that."

"What?" He asked totally surprised.

Amazing herself with her courage, Kate said. "I want you to see me naked Stephen, I want to be naked for you and then naked with you."

"Oh Kate," Stephen groaned, kissing her hard. "Thank you, thank you."

She stood up, he joined her and wordlessly, they took part in what for both of them was the most erotic even they had ever experienced.

Their eyes boring into the others and occasionally flittering up and down the others body, they undressed.

Kate pulled the front of her blouse out of her jeans and slowly undid the buttons.

Stephen shrugged his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. Kate's blouse came open and her full breasts inside one of her 'sensible' M & S bras were exposed. Whilst sensible, it was still cut fairly acutely across each orb leaving ample flesh exposed.

At almost exactly the same time, their hands went to their belts, undid them and slid their zips down. Stephen, quivering with excitement, saw the front of her white thong between the parted fly of her jeans, she the grey CKs between his. Both pairs of trousers were slid down and both he and she stepped away from them, moving slightly closer. 

Kate, like an inexperienced teenager, gasped when she saw the large bulge right up the front of his boxers. Stephen moaned.

"Oh God Kate you are so gorgeous," when he saw her bare waist, stomach and legs for the first time. 

Surprisingly to her, Kate didn't feel embarrassed. In her fantasising about having sex with Stephen she had thought, the post childbirth bulge of her tummy and the excess weight on her hips and bum would make her feel shy when he undressed her, but she wasn't. 'Thanks white coat' she said to herself, realising her experiences in that with him had helped remove her embarrassment or, she had second thoughts, 'was it masturbating on cam as Dean watched?

Whenever a girl removes her bra and bares her breasts for a man, lover or not, it is always a very special moment. And that was the case as, with Stephen watching, his hands on his hips, most of his fit lithe body on view to her and his tight boxers bloated by his evident erection, Kate slowly undid her bra and removed it.

Stephen was nearly overwhelmed. Alright, they sagged a tad, but they were full, round and so fucking horny he wanted to eat the fuckers. He knew that would be inappropriate.

"Oh yes Kate," he sighed, they are truly beautiful, I love your breasts. 

No woman could fail to be flattered and excited by such compliments and Kate was no exception. Almost forgetting where she was and that she was not on cam with Dean she breathed.

"So you like my breasts do you Stephen?" as she cupped each orb, lifting them and pushing them together.

"Yes Kate, they are the most magnificent breasts I've ever seen."

Still holding and stroking her breasts with one hand, Kate slid the other into the thin elastic waistband of her white, lacy thong. Stephen got the message and they both watched with mounting excitement and huge lust as the other became naked.

Kate was not hairy down there and, in any case, since starting exposing herself to Dean on her cam, she had trimmed her pubes on a regular basis. The thin covering of hair hid nothing and Stephen could clearly see her wet pinkness. He, however, was quite hairy down there, all over his stomach and round his thighs. Again, Kate wondered just what those hairs rasping against her body would feel like. She also wondered what his fairly short, but interestingly thick cock would feel like either, in her hand or, she smiled to herself letting her usually dormant mind take over, 'up her cunt.'

"You are beautiful too, Stephen," Kate whispered again extraordinarily nervous.

"What now?" he asked feeling rather self-conscious simply standing there.

"I don't know," Kate replied feeling both excited and nervous, but strangely, not self-conscious.

"Let's go to the bedroom."

"Ok." 

Holding hands, they walked across the sitting room of the suite and into the luxurious bedroom. They kissed.

Stephen moved her closer to the bed. They sat on the edge of the ultra modern, low, almost square bed. They kissed again. He cupped her bare breasts for the first time and they sank slowly backwards onto the bed.

"Hold me Stephen," Kate whispered, feeling very strange, hugely emotional.

She could not have imagined, had she tried, the multitude of emotions going through her from being naked with, and in the arms of, a man other than her husband. Being pressed against him, having his hands on her breasts and now her reaching out for his strong erection, simply added to the sensations. She was welling up inside as her hand closed round his erection, making Stephen jerk with pleasure and desire. He to, though, was feeling loads of different emotions. Most, or at least many, men can handle committing adultery just as easily as having a wank. Stephen wasn't one of them.

As Kate's hand encircled his cock his was partly mortified and partly relieved, in an odd way, to feel his erection softening. Kate felt it to. She also experienced those emotions.

"It isn't working is it Stephen?"

"No," he mumbled feeling foolish and a embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, there's no need to be sorry," Kate said in a mock stern voice, adding as Stephen laughed softly. "It's not the same without the white coat is it?

Chapter 11

Kate stood in front of the mirror clad in just a pair of white, lacy-topped, holdup stockings and strappy, heeled shoes. Nothing else, apart from diamond studs in her ears.

She cupped her breasts and pushed them together. She pinched her nipples hard, making them perk up and harden. Smiling she thought, 'Like fucking acorns.'

Turning and looking over her shoulder at her, slightly too large and just a little saggy bum, she bent down and picked up the white coat from her bed. She slipped it on, leaving it open. It looked good, the edges of the crisp cotton catching on her 'organstops," giving them and her full breasts partial cover, but leaving ample flesh uncovered.

She did the three buttons up at her waist and clipped the tight, wide belt round her, enjoying the feeling of the restriction as it pulled in her waist from its generous twenty- seven inches. She did up two more buttons beneath and above the belt and turned back to the mirror. She was pleased with what she saw. She turned to one side and took a pace. 'Nice' she murmured seeing the length of her leg right up to and including part of her stocking tops. Crossing her arms just beneath her breasts, she pushed them up loving the deep cleavage that created and the mass of titty flesh, almost, but not quite to her nipples, that was on show.

She was ready.

Walking tentatively down the stairs she opened the lounge door and walked in.

"I don't think you have ever seen my working uniform have you Paul?" Kate said to her husband.

Chapter 12

They never did fuck. They felt deflated in that hotel room. The guilt and worry over-rode their desire and they left.

The next day, Stephen was at a conference in Frankfurt. Returning to his room to change fro dinner, he checked his e-mails. There was one from Kate

Dear Stephen,

I am pleased and sorry for what has happened. Most of all, though I am confused.

I am sure you will understand that I do not feel it wise to continue working for you. In the circumstances, I assume you will forgo the need for me to work my notice.

Please have a great life

Love 

Your nurse.

Kate



The Power of Clothing Pt. 05



No series of stories about the effect clothing can have on a person's sex life, could be complete without a look at corsets.

In this Jo does more than look.





Chapter 1

Jo was lying on her front. Her head was turned to her left, away from the centre of the massive, king-sized bed, her eyes were closed. A thin, crisp, white cotton sheet was draped across her legs midway between her knees and her bum. Under that, she was naked. 

A sigh slipped from her mouth as she felt the back of a fingernail move slowly up her spine. It slithered between her shoulder blades, up her neck, into her hair and gently caressed the crown of her head. The sigh was deeper and longer as the nail retraced its path downwards. It became a groan accompanied by a slight wiggle of her body as it moved over her waist and slid into the crease of her fulsome arse. She turned her face to the right, opened her eyes and smiled just before Marcia's mouth closed over her lips.

Chapter 2

Jo was a career woman. Marcia was a rich bitch with no inclination to, or interest in, work. Jo was in her late twenties, Marcia her middle. Jo was a bachelor girl, Marcia a married woman with children. Marcia came from a wealthy and pampered background, Jo made her own way in the world. There were lots of differences, but some similarities. They both played golf, rather well as it happens, and tennis, where Jo was a star, having almost got into Wimbledon in her teens, they belonged to the same club and both were bisexual.

They hadn't played golf much together until being paired in a tournament. It had been difficult to arrange due to Jo's work commitments, but after several reschedules it had been fixed for a Sunday afternoon. They played well and they formed a good team. They also got on well and had a convincing, 5 and 4, win against a couple from another club.

"Why not come back to my place for a drink and a bite," Marcia had said in the changing rooms, pausing for a moment before adding with a smile "To eat that is of course?"

Surprised at the double entendre, Jo looked up from where she was untying her golf shoes and caught Marcia's gaze. It was more intense than she would have imagined, there was a quizzical, half-smile on the older woman's face as she said.

"It's just down the road in Hampstead."

Jo was intrigued and, she had to admit, flattered. It wasn't often, she thought, that a working girl like her from a very ordinary background gets invited to the home of multimillionaires. She also felt a surge of excitement for it also wasn't often that a stylish, sophisticated and attractive woman seemed to be coming on to her. Was she, Jo wondered?

"You sure, Marcia, I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"You won't Jo, I promise," Marcia said, holding that same smile on her face as she slipped her white Dryjoys off.

"Ok then thanks, I'll just get a quick shower," Jo said, starting to move towards the pile of towels.

Marcia caught her by her shoulder and stopped her. She looked right into Jo's eyes, somewhat unsettling the younger woman, as she said.

"We can do that there, come on let's go."

It was an impressive, Georgian house in the Frognal area of Hampstead, not far from the Heath.

"All by myself this evening, Stephen's at some fucking, damn fool conference, or shagging his big titted medical assistant," Marcia announced when they were in the beautifully decorated and furnished house. 

Jo knew that Marcia's husband, who she had met a couple of time at golf club functions, was a hugely successful medical consultant, but didn't know his area of specialisation. She had, though, fancied him like hell and, if he hadn't been 'so close to home she could have been tempted, although she had to remind herself, he hadn't offered anything.

Although, as the National Sales Manager for the leading health club group in the UK, Jo was used to expense account largesse and corporate spending, the lavish nature of the home, its furnishings, the paintings and everything about the house, which Jo guessed had to be worth several millions, almost overwhelmed her. As, equally, did Marcia's behaviour. She really was the epitome of the ideal rich. Selfish, self-centred, arrogant, seemingly without a care in the world and couldn't really give a fuck what anyone thought about her, but fun and nice.

It hadn't, therefore been that difficult for Jo to succumb to Marcia's advances.

Jo had some quite clear guidelines about her sex life. She avoided commitment like the plague . She didn't want any and was not prepared to offer any; emotional commitment and the sort of high-flying career she wanted and was carving out for herself were not easy bedfellows. Largely for that reason, she generally went with married men. She tended to restrict her relationships to about six weeks, avoided dipping her ink in company ink and mostly she met her men in hotels when she was away on business.

Marcia didn't fit closely with any of those guidelines. She was, however, attractive, sexy, provocative, seemingly available and clearly wanted Jo.

Jo was attracted to her. Not just physically, but also emotionally. She liked the 'don't give a damn' attitude, the easy way and her haughtiness. She also responded to Marcia's quite clear interest in her as more than a golf partner, more than a friend and more than a colleague. She liked the way that Marcia was up front about her desire. It had taken only hour or so of being in Marcia's home before the older woman had been coming on to Jo and telling her how attractive she found her. 

In the way that gay men and lesbian women seem instinctively to recognise 'their own' so both Marcia and Jo seemed to immediately recognise 'something' in the other. Maybe it was holding the other's gaze just a moment longer than necessary or standing slightly closer than 'straight' women usually do, possibly making some light touches on the others arm or the slightly flirting, double entendre phrasing of their chats.

"What can I get you to drink?" Marcia asked.

"I'd better just have water, I'm driving."

"Don't worry about that, I'll get Gordon, our treasure to take you home, if you have a little too much."

Jo thought quickly. She was in the office tomorrow and could go there by cab and then pop round here after to collect her car, it was only a few miles.

"And that way Jo, you'll have to come back won't you?" Marcia said, softly.

Flustered by the pace and the obviousness of the come on, Jo stammered. "Er yes, yes I suppose so."

"What you'll have too much to drink or will come back?" Marcia asked quickly, again flashing that smile at Jo.

That made Jo smile and she replied. "We'll see, how about a white wine?"

"Great, Chablis Ok?"

Marcia made the drinks and returned to the conservatory off the dining room. It looked out onto a surprisingly large garden for such an expensive area as Hampstead.

"It's quite a suntrap and totally secluded, perfect for sunbathing, topless or otherwise." Marcia informed Jo after seeing her 'prey' looking out to the garden.

"Really?" Jo said, slightly embarrassed, standing in the open doorway of the conservatory looking into the garden and seeing what Marcia meant. She felt Marcia close behind her.

"Yes, I sunbathe here quite often, both topless and nude." She said feeling pretty confident she was winning with her seduction.

She had picked the career woman, ex top tennis player, confirmed bachelor girl as a potential lover, some time ago. She hadn't pushed things and had let fate take its course. That had served her well in the past as it seemed to be doing now. 

Marcia was completely bi. She got equal pleasure from both sexes, including from her husband Stephen, a couple of longer term 'boy-friends,' the odd male pick up, particularly much younger than her ski instructors and tennis coaches, from a girl friend in Brighton and the occasional pick up such as Jo. 

She came from an extremely wealthy background, having inherited millions from her grandparents and Stephen, her top of the pile consultant psychologist husband, earned in excess of two million pounds a year. The children were off her hand, as if actually they had ever been on them having been sent to boarding schools from the age of eight. They had several houses including the Hampstead, London Home, an estate in Norfolk, where Marcia spent a lot of her time, a ski lodge and a couple of holiday homes.

She had never worked, was totally spoiled and if truth be told, she had never had to think of others at all. Almost her total concentration was on her own needs; usually she satisfied those almost effortlessly as she was thinking she was going to now with Jo.

She stood close to Jo, too close really, so close they could smell each other. The mix of perspiration with expensive perfumes was oddly erotic, to both of them.

"You like?" She asked?

"What?" Jo replied also gaining the smell and feeling Marcia's closeness.

"Oh the garden, the house, sunbathing, topless or nude, whatever, me?"

"Yes of course," Jo stammered, now pretty sure this was a seduction.

"Pity the sun's gone."

"Why?"

"Well then we could have sunbathed." Marcia said quietly putting her hand on Jo's shoulder.

"Yes."

"Topless or nude even?"

"Yes," Jo gulped.

She felt Marcia's hand run down her bare arm and take hold of her hand as the older woman said, rather huskily. "And that, Jo, would have avoided me having to undress you wouldn't it?"

Marcia held her breath as she pulled on the younger woman's hand turning her round. Jo let the pressure turn her as she said. "Yes Marcia it would wouldn't it?"

Game, set and match.

Chapter 3

Jo had been in a series of both internal and client meetings when she rang for a cab at six fifteen the next evening. She was wearing her 'business uniform,' a grey, thin wool, pin-stripe power suit, trousers and a hip length jacket, white button up blouse and heels. She was continuously on her mobile and glancing at her laptop on the slow cab ride through north London on her way to collect her car from Marcia's house.

"I may be in so give the bell a ring, if I'm not Gordon will give you the keys," Marcia had said when Jo had left with Gordon at around ten the previous evening, feeling slightly drunk and well fucked.

It took a few moments before the door opened. It was Marcia. She was standing behind the door, which she opened a little further

"Hi babe, come on in," she said opening the door and standing behind it.

Jo walked in past the door and Marcia.

"Hi," she said turning, her eyes opening in surprise.

Marcia was standing holding the door with one hand, and the lapels of shorty, red, silk dressing gown with the other. As their eyes met, Marcia let go of the gown, which fluttered open. She was naked under it.

As she moved towards the still shocked Jo, she said.

"I thought this time I would undress you babe."

Jo hadn't expected Marcia to be in, let alone coming on to her again. Despite Marcia's protestations of having strong feelings for Jo as she had sucked the younger woman's nipples last night, Jo hadn't expected to see her again. Bi flings often were just one offs.

Marcia took hold of Jo's hand and, without further ado, led her up the stairs to her bedroom, slipping the robe off just as they got to the bed. Marcia was slim to the point of being thin. She hardly had breasts, simply two small bumps and dark nipples, which Jo knew were tremendously sensitive.

She stood close to Jo, looking her up and down.

"The real successful business woman look, eh Jo. You look lovely," she said, running the backs of her fingers across Jo's cheek, down her neck and onto her chest coming to rest on the top button of her blouse. "Slip your jacket off love," she whispered undoing the top button.

Jo did that as Marcia undid more buttons.

"Wow, baby, what have we got here?" She said as she pulled the blouse apart.

"I wear them sometimes," Jo said as Marcia stared at the white basque.

"And very lovely it is too," Marcia said slipping the blouse off and moving closer as her fingers went first to the clip on the waistband of Jo's trousers and then, after undoing that, to the zip. She slid it down and said very firmly. 

"Take them off Jo."

Jo slipped her trousers off.

"Well, well, you are a crafty little bitch aren't you? Talk about s wolf in sheep's clothing," Marcia said walking round the younger woman.

Jo was wearing the white basque, with a diaphanous, white bra and thong, black, fishnet, self-support stockings and high heels. She looked wanton and wonderful.

Marcia wrapped her arms round Jo from behind. She cupped the younger woman's small, pert breasts and pressed her naked stomach against Jo's bum. That was a little on the large side, giving her a slight 'pear shape' look, not untypical of English women. She undid Jo's bra, removed that and slid the thong down Jo's thighs leaving Jo to wiggle it down past her knees and off. Marcia turned her round and held her with both hands on Jo's shoulders. She pulled her close and went to kiss her. 

"You really are a sexy little slut aren't you? You look fucking fabulous."

They kissed for some time both writhing their bodies against the other, until Marcia said. "Right, get on that bed, Jo, it's time for me to fuck you again. I think we'll leave the basque and stockings right where they are.

Chapter 4

Until just on a year ago, Jo had never worn a basque. One of her married lovers had bought it for her. After they had had sex in a hotel bedroom he had blindfolded her and put one on her; a typical male fantasy, rather crass, crimson and black lace job. Whilst the look hadn't done much for Jo, the tightness of it round her body and the feel of being restricted in it had. It had done so much that she had then knelt for him, her face buried in the bed, her bum in the air and she had let him fuck her arse; something that she normally reserved for very special occasions.

The basque, not the anal adventure, had started something in her. She wanted 'that feel' so she bought a number of basques, waspies and bustierres, searching for even more of a buzz. She found that when she wore them, especially with sexy thongs and bras, she felt better, more feminine, sexier, more of a woman. She liked the feel of them pulling in her waist, which since she had stopped serious tennis had expanded to around twenty seven inches. She liked the feel of the material on her skin, she liked being tight and restricted. She liked the way they made her rather nondescript figure, look rounded and curved, voluptuous even. And she liked the look on a man's face when, like Marcia, they undressed her to reveal her secret.

Chapter 5

Their earlier sex had been quick, urgent demanding and rather mechanical. There hadn't been much kissing, hardly any tenderness and little talking. Today it was totally different.

Yesterday, after Marcia had made her intentions known to Jo, they had embraced and caressed each other outside their golf clothes, shorts and polo shirts. Marcia had pulled away a little and had removed her shirt, she wasn't wearing a bra. Jo followed suit and removed her bra as well. Looking at each other they slid their shorts off and stared at each other in just their panties. 

Today, Marcia had undressed Jo, they had kissed and were talking.

Last night they hadn't gone to Marcia's bedroom, but instead laid on the sofa embraced, pressing their nipples together and running their hands over the other's body.

Now, Marcia lay with Jo on her bed and they kissed and embraced, slowly and patiently.

Yesterday's sex had been about fingers and hands, probing and pressing, finding nipples and clits and sliding into the other providing surrogate cocks to fuck eager, willing cunts.

Today, Marcia slithered her face down Jo's body, pausing to attend to the needs of the younger woman's small breasts as Jo, ran her hands through Marcia's hair. 

In the previous sex, the furthest down either face went was on the other's breasts and nipples. Today, Marcia went all the way watching with enormous pleasure as Jo parted her thighs to accommodate her face and mouth. The feel of the fishnet on her face and shoulders added to the sensuality of the situation, if shoving your tongue up another woman needs anything to be added.

Yesterday, Marcia had led the way and been in control of everything. Now, Jo returned her oral advances loving the taste, smell and feel of Marcia's wet, smooth, hot lips on her tongue. Yesterday, Marcia had fucked Jo. Today they fucked each other. Yesterday they both had one orgasm, today they each had several.

Yesterday, Marcia hadn't touched Jo's bum, today she was sliding her finger along the deep crevice between the cheeks of Jo's ample arse.

"You like that?"

"Mmmm, yes, I do," Jo replied, worrying a little when she felt Marcia's weight leaving the bed. "What?"

"Shush, baby, I'll be right back, give me a second." 

"Oh God, what the hell's that?" Jo asked.

"Almond oil, warmed up and lovely." Marcia replied as she poured the oil between Jo's cheeks.

It felt gorgeous and nothing like anything Jo had experienced before. She groaned with pleasure, opening her legs wider and, to Marcia, invitingly. She groaned louder when she felt Marcia's fingers back in her crease, rubbing the warm oil into her skin, particularly that brown puckered area around her anus. Marcia didn't restrict herself to staying outside either and Jo's body jerked as a finger slid inside a little. Her loudest and deepest groan, though, came when she heard and then felt the vibrator pressing right against her hole. She felt Marcia's hand, the one not holding the vibrator, slide under her waist and pull.

"Lift up baby, kneel for me, it will be better like that."

Jo knew that and she took up the same position she'd adopted when Tom had fucked her arse. That time it had been a man fucking her bum with his cock, this time it was a woman fucking it with a vibrator. Both times had resulted from her wearing a basque and both times Jo had cum very heavily.

Chapter 6

Smoking a cigarette as they lay together on the bed, her arm round Jo, whose face was resting on Marcia's almost non-existent breast, Marcia asked. 

"So what's with the basque Jo?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, as lovely as it is and as sexy as you look, it's not a very usual undergarment, is it?"

After a little sparring, Jo eventually explained her feelings about the basque.

"I understand what you mean Jo. Even though I don't get those feelings, I know that many women do. Have you thought of getting a corset?"

"No, I hadn't why?"

"Well I have a friend who makes them."

"What corsets?" Jo asked, her interest perked.

"Yes."

"I had never thought about that."

"Greta gets so much work they must be very popular. I'll give you her website and details. If you want to contact her let me know, I'll call her for you."

Over the next week or so, the idea of a corset was never far from Jo's mind. The mere thought of just how tight it could be, how restricted she would feel, how small her waist might be and how voluptuous, curvy and feminine her body would be, was never far from Jo's mind.

"Be more feminine than you ever imagined you could be."

That was the first message that came up on Jo's screen in her office when she visited the Greta's website.

Following that, there was some narrative about corsetry and Greta's services and some fantastic photos of models wearing her creations. The clinching persuasion for Jo was the line 'restrict your waist by at least three and up to six inches." The mere thought of maybe having a twenty one inch waist and the effect that would have on her figure was enough to make Jo feel very sexy. That was nearly enough to coax her to touch herself, something she never did at work, it was enough, though, to persuade her to click the 'I am interested, please send more details.'




The Power of Clothing Pt. 05



Jo checked her personal e-mail a few minutes later and was impressed to see a reply from Greta, probably automated she thought. It didn't actually say much more than was on the site other than to explain how to go forward and arrange a fitting or order a corset. 

As it happens it wasn't an automated reply and Greta, a twenty three year old graduate from St. Martin's College of Design, handled everything herself, including the admin, the invoicing, the measuring and the design. She outsourced the actual, basic manufacture of the corsets but finished off the top layers of silk and lace in her small workshop in her house/office/studio/workshop in the Lanes in Brighton. 

She had started the business with an inheritance from her parents, both of whom had died in her teens. It had been slow at first, but in the last year it had boomed. Some of this, well quite a lot she had to admit, was down to Marcia who was married to Greta's uncle Stephen. She had introduced several of her wealthy friends to Greta's services and they in turn had recommended her to others. 

At first, this seemed odd to the young woman, for Marcia hadn't ordered one and had shown little interest in corsets. It was only when Greta let it slip that she was lesbian, that Marcia's interest had picked up a little. It was when they started fucking each other that it had gone into overdrive.

She saw that Jo was a recommendation and from her address guessed that this would another 'friend' of Marcia's. Smiling she wondered if they had had sex as several of the other recommendations had, 'For a bi lipstick, she's a damn sight more active than me, a fully paid up member of the les union,' Greta thought.

She and Jo exchanged several more mails as Jo became more interested and learned more about this vaguely Victorian fetish. There were two main types of corset, over and under bust. Both could be front or rear fastening and could be made with or without laces. They could have whalebone or steel stays, could come with or without suspenders and could be covered in a variety of materials, in a wide abundance of colours and could be finished with a range of different types of lace.

One of Greta's e-mails asked. 'if you would like to discuss things on the phone or in messenger, I would be happy to do so.'

"Hi Jo."

"Hello Greta," Jo typed back a few evenings later.

They exchanged pleasantries until Greta asked.

"What more can I tell you Jo, to help you reach your decision."

"Actually, I think I have reached it."

"So do you want to go ahead then?"

Jo took a deep breath, for reaching the decision seemed such a big step. She didn't know why, it wasn't the price.

"Yes, please," she typed.

"Ok the first decision is do you want an over or underbust corset."

"I thought both."

"Great, good idea. Ok we can agree the details, colours and material later after I have made a dummy that you will need to try on, either here or I can mail it. It's better here though she added, so I can see you."

"That would be no problem. I am often in the area."

"Great so really all we need now for both corsets is to get you measured."

"Now?"

"Yes why not? I often work this way and, in any case at the fitting we can always make any final adjustments."

"Ok no problem."

"You wouldn't have a recent photo of yourself on your PC would you by any chance."

Jo thought quickly.

"Actually yes I have, quite a few."

"Any holiday snaps, in a bikini or swimsuit."

Although Jo thought this a little pushy, she could see the point when Greta added. "It'll give me an idea how accurate the measurements are."

"Yes I have some, hold on," Jo said, accessing her My Photos folder. She flicked through a few and chose two, both in bikinis, one where she was face on to the camera, the other from her side. She sent them.

'Mmm quite tasty,' Greta thought running her eyes appreciatively up and down Jo's crowning glories, her long shapely legs. 'Pity about the bum, though,' she thought.

"Have you one from behind Jo?"

"You've noticed the bum then, lol."

"lol. Well we all have our own shapes."

Jo sent one and Greta saw that her bum wasn't too bad, just a little broad beamed.

"Ok Jo, let's do the measurements, OK?"

"Sure."

"What are you wearing Jo?"

"Huh?"

"You need to measure inside your clothes, not over them."

"I see."

Feeling vaguely excited, Jo typed.

"Jeans and a long-sleeved polo."

"They are thick, so it might be best to undress."

Now the excitement was certainly not vague, it was very real, Jo noted slipping out of her clothes.

"Ok I have."

Looking at Jo's bikini photos, Greta could imagine the scene in her client's home as Jo sat before her PC in her underwear. She felt tingly as she typed back.

"Have you got a tape?"

"Yes."

"OK stand up and let's measure you. Ok?"

Jo replied looking at her near naked self in the mirror.

"Yes Greta,"

Greta gave Jo instructions on measuring various parts of her body including: armpit to waist, distance from lower rib to hip bone, from collar bone to start of her boob, from her nipple and the bottom of her boob to her waist and from where her breast started to flare out from her chest to where it rejoined it.

"Ok that's all great, well done Jo, thanks."

"Are we finished?" Jo typed, for some reason feeling a little disappointed.

"Oh no, we need the main attractions now."

Jo smiled and wrote.

"How do we do that?"

"To get these, we need to measure round the fullest part of your bust, the narrowest part of your waist and the fullest part of your hips. Ok?"

"Yes," Jo replied following Greta's instructions with slightly shaky fingers as she held the tape round her breasts. She had no idea what made her type. "Is it ok to measure over my bra?"

Greta gulped. Was that a come on. Or a genuine query. She decided to chance her luck.

"Well without is better Jo, of course."

"I'll remove it then," Jo typed undoing her bra and removing it. "Fuck," she said out loud to no one other than her cat. "My nipples have gone hard."

"So what do we have now, Jo?"

For a moment, Jo thought that Greta was referring to her swollen nipples.

"Oh 33 inches."

"Do you know your cup size."

"Yes it's B."

Greta could feel a sexual tension in the typed words and thought it best to finalise things.

"Ok that's fine for now Jo, when would you like to do the fitting."

Jo checked with her diary on her PC and feeling a little disappointed, but not understanding why, she typed.

"Saturday week."

Chapter 7

It was an easy drive down the M3 to Brighton. Jo was in the town by eleven so she had a cup of coffee and a small brandy in a seafront bar. Unusually for her, she was feeling very nervous as she thought about the fitting.

They had agreed that she would buy a fairly standard, white underbust and a black overbust pair of corsets. Jo had thought of buying two of each in different colours, but Greta had cautioned against that.

"Make sure you're happy with wearing corsets first," She had advised.

"Hi, you must be Jo," the short, spiky haired girl said as she opened the door. "Just like the photos, well more clothes of course.

"Yes and you're obviously Greta, Hi." Jo smiled at Greta's joke, replying quickly. "Well even in Brighton, driving around in your undies might be frowned upon."

"Oh, I don't know, sounds a great idea to me," Greta said as Jo followed her up the stairs in the Victorian, four story town house. 

Jo was thinking that they had quickly established a light, jokey relationship and wondered whether she should include flirty in its description. 

Greta was younger and prettier in the flesh. She had short, black, gelled, spiky hair, a thin 'Audrey Hepburn' angularly beautiful type of face and huge eyes. 'They seem to be undressing me,' Jo thought with a little shudder, of what, she wondered? 

Greta was wearing a blue, denim micro skirt and a loose, scoop fronted black tee shirt. She had a tattoo on her right shoulder, another on her left ankle and a diamond pin in her nose. For her height, and despite wearing flip flops, she seemed to have long legs, which were very tanned. Jo had the pleasure of observing these from several inches as she followed Greta up the stairs. She saw that she was wearing a blue thong.

They had a coffee and chatted, with Greta explaining that they would first of all use the mould she had made from a thin canvas to make sure of the measurements and the style, which they could choose from the corsets she had in stock or from her pattern books. We'll then work out the corset size.

"How do you do that?"

"Well a corset size refers to the measurement around the inside of its waist when it is laced fully shut. Sizes go up in two point five inch graduations."

"I see, so how do we decide my size?"

"We use this," Greta said picking up a wide belt from her desk. "Simple, I put it round you and pull until you're happy with the fit."

"You don't have to pull in to a Scarlet O'Hara eighteen inches - you may be quite happy with the corset just hugging you, or you might prefer to lace much tighter. Most first time wearers are delighted when they look in the mirror; corsets enhance any woman's body, giving not just a smaller waist, but the impression of a voluptuous figure and a feeling of intense femininity."

Jo lapped up Greta's explanation, she loved the phrases she was using.

"How small do you think I can go?"

Greta looked at Jo's file. "Well you're twenty seven now, I would think twenty four point five. Like to feel what that's like? We are all different, some waists can take six inches or so, others no more than three."

"Let's find out shall we?" Jo asked.

"Ok.

"Er, it would be best without the jeans Jo, if that's ok."

Jo hesitated for no more than a second or so.

"Sure, no problem."

"You can go behind the screen if you like." Greta suggested, sounding somewhat half-hearted.

"No that's fine," Jo said undoing her belt, sliding the zip down and stepping out of her jeans."

She was better in the flesh, Jo thought, although her type was usually thinner, like Marcia. 'Odd' she often thought, I don't like men but prefer to fuck women who look like boys!

Jo was wearing a man's shirt, a baggy Ralph Lauren heavy cotton job.

"Perhaps the shirt as well Jo."

Jo looked at Greta who stared back as Jo's fingers went to the top button. Was there something there, both wondered?

"Ok face the mirror," Greta said standing behind Jo, appreciating the expanse of female flesh, the shape of Jo's breasts and the shadow of her nipples inside the slightly see-through white bra.

She put her hands on Jo's waist as though trying to encircle ii. She squeezed then sort of shook them. It felt nice, for both of them. Jo looked in the mirror seeing Greta smiling at her and her tummy and boobs wobbling as the girl squeezed and shook her stomach.

"Actually," Greta said, stopping shaking but leaving her hands, pleasantly for Jo on her hips "There's quite a lot of loose stuff there, around your waist Jo."

"What's that mean?"

"Well two things. First I think we'll be able to go for a two size reduction."

"Five inches?"

"Yes."

"Wow," Jo gasped, excited and pleased at the prospect. "And secondly?"

"You could probably take a couple of inches off by diet."

"Hmm, not sure about that," Jo smiled suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that Greta was still touching her.

"Ok let's try the belt."

Greta wrapped the belt round Jo's waist. It was about four inches wide and was marked up with inches and centimetres. She carefully adjusted it until it fitted snugly. Holding the belt, Greta leaned forward her face an interesting and slightly arousing few inches from Jo's panties. She realised they too were slightly see through and looked down. Jo couldn't tell whether Greta's attention was taken up by looking at her pubes or reading the exact measurement.

"Well done Jo, spot on, twenty seven and a quarter," she said indicating that she had, at least done the latter. "So let's see how far we can go. Don't take a breath, just be natural."

Greta stood behind Jo and slid her arms round her. They both looked in the mirror as she took the belt and the buckle, the tops of her arms pressing on the sides of Jo's boobs pushing them inwards and creating an unusually deep cleavage for her. It looked good, Jo thought, catching Greta's gaze lingering on it as she thought exactly the same.

Greta started to tighten the belt. Slowly it pulled Jo's waist in.

"There, that's one size, your waist is now twenty four and a half and a little bit. Like it?"

Jo did. She was surprised and excited at how much her waist had been so easily reduced, far more than the basques or waspies.

"It's amazing, the basques didn't do anything like that."

"Well they're not supposed to," Greta explained.

"I thought they did."

"Not really, they just follow your body. A corset transforms the way you look by changing your body. It flattens your tummy, pulls in your waist and helps you stand upright."

"I see."

Greta went on as she started to slowly tighten the belt even further.

"An authentic corset is completely different from a basque or waspie, neither of which is designed to pull in the waist. The real thing comes in two halves, laced together at the back and fastening at the front with a steel busk. Steel or real bone boning gives that wonderful hour glass shape and makes corsets light, flexible and comfortable. How's that?"

"Oh my God," Jo breathed, half because she felt so pulled in and restricted and half because she could hardly believe the incredible effect the belt was creating.

"That's the two sizes, you are now a twenty two inch waist Jo. Can you handle that?" Greta asked, as she ran her hands down from the belt over the amazing flair of Jo's hips.

"I'm not sure," Jo sighed, the tightness slightly painful. "But I certainly like it and would love to try.

"I could always make it slightly looser. A corset will mould itself to your body after you have worn it a few times and you can gradually lace a bit tighter if you wish."

"Are you comfortable Jo?" She asked her hands still resting on Jo's hips.

"Yes, let's go for the two size reduction on both, Ok?"

Chapter 8

They went through all the pattern and materials books gradually refining and then deciding the style, type and material of both corsets.

"It will be two weeks from today, you can collect or I can have it delivered," Greta offered.

Jo was tempted to say she would collect, particularly when they were sitting in Greta's office. She had her legs crossed and the ridiculously short skirt had ridden right up her legs, to the point that when Jo leaned forward she could her blue thong again. Knowing that Marcia and Greta might well have something going, Jo thought it best to have it mailed.

"Sure that's fine," Greta said, actually feeling a little disappointed. "We can talk on messenger or the phone about any changes."

The corsets, particularly the overbust one were everything and more that Jo had hoped for. It covered her small breasts lifting them and pushing them together making her look like the C cup she had often contemplated when considering a boob job. 'No need for that now,' she thought, her business mind working out that she was already ahead of the game cost wise.

It was made from Greta's finest silk. Smooth, shiny, cool and lustrous it looked fantastic when Jo hurriedly unwrapped the parcel, which had arrived three days early. It had lace round the bust, which didn't plunge, but was true to the Victorian style of being a straight line round her chest. She had chosen a longer style. The scalloped shape bottom of the garment reached well into Jo's pubes in the middle and lower on each thigh and hip. The bottom had the same beautiful lace all the way round through which the one inch wide suspenders would hang, when she used them. As Jo lifted the incredibly erotic garment from the packing a note fell out.

My dear Jo

I hope you get as much pleasure from wearing this as I have from creating it for you. Just a few tips that I hope will add to your pleasure and, if I may say, sensual excitement as well. 

Firstly, let's go through how to put on the corset. The starting point, of course is to undress, certainly down to your panties and possibly those as well.

My corsets are delivered laced up at the back with two long loops at the waist and the metal front busk fastened. To put the corset on, undo the metal clasps at the front, loosen the lacing at the back and ease the two halves of the corset apart until it is wide enough to fit around your waist.

Check that the size label is at the top and put the corset in place, with the lacing at your back. Fasten the top metal clasp and the rest should follow.

Pull the loops of the laces gently, then tighten the lacing progressively from both top and bottom towards the middle, then pull on the loops again. Repeat as necessary. There should be a pleasant 'hugging' sensation.

Tie the ends in a bow at the back or the front to finish.

We advise you not to over tighten a corset as this will damage it. A corset will gradually mould to your body shape and then you will be able to lace more tightly with time, so start with around twenty five inches and gradually get tighter. As we discussed, you should after a time be quite able to get down to a magical, wonderful twenty two inches; hopefully one day I will see that!

One last tip: if you are going to wear stockings and shoes with your corset, it is a good idea to put them on before tightening the laces, as most people are unused to the straight back a corset gives and find it hard to bend down!

Enjoy what I have created with love for you

Yours,

Greta

Simply looking at the corset, running her hands over it and reading Greta's words aroused Jo. She undressed, completely. 

After several bungled efforts she eventually managed to get the corset on as it was intended. Seeing her reflection in the mirror really took her breath away. It was fantastic. But if the look was wonderful, the feelings was even more so. The fabulous curve into and then out from her waist made her feel so womanly and the tightness round her waist, the restrictiveness nature of the stays and the sensation of being 'captured', (was that the right description?) got to her. Her nipples exploded and she could feel her womanly juices flowing. She sat on her bed, legs apart, and her hands between her waist. The corset had done its job.

Jo masturbated looking at herself in the corset.

She removed the corset, had a shower and a glass of wine and then put it on again, this time she decided to wear stockings so she hunted through the packaging to find the suspenders. She found them, fitted them on and slid into the white, silk stockings that Greta had provided as a gift. They also looked and felt great. As she found the suspenders, so she found another note, also written on Greta's distinctive pink notepaper.

Darling, I may call you that, mayn't I?

I wanted to share something with you that I would urge you to remember.

Whether performed by yourself or, preferably a lover, being laced into a corset is an exquisitely sensual experience. I hope by now you will have discovered that. I assume you have tried it on Jo. Did you experience something special? 

You will know that as the laces slide across your back and as they are pulled gradually in from the top and bottom towards the middle so the sensation is of being embraced tighter and tighter. Of being restricted so that it feels as if you lose control to your friend, my corset. Many people find the sensation of being gently held straight with the back supported almost relaxing, some find it stimulating and most find it permanently exciting. How do you find it Jo?




The Power of Clothing Pt. 05



Our corsets are made to look and feel beautiful. A Greta corset is something special and will make you feel special too. Have I made you feel special Jo? Would you like me to make you feel even more special?

All my love and all my corset sensations

G.

Jo masturbated again.

Chapter 9

It was a nice meal, nothing special, but then hotel meals around the UK, rarely are. They'd had a drink in the bar, before the meal when they had met after both working all day and driving to the hotel, just outside Sheffield. At dinner they had drunk a bottle of Chablis and a half a bottle of claret. Pleasantly, mildly tipsy they had gone straight to the elevators. On the way up they kissed. He squeezed her breast.

"Mmmmmm, lovely, been such a time."

"Yes."

They hadn't bothered using, but had booked, separate rooms; that's how corporate travel works. 

Jo was interviewing some applicants for Area Managers so she qualified for a suite, nicely convenient for an early evening of planned sex. 

Both had early starts tomorrow so they'd had dinner at an 'American' hour of six thirty and were now, at before eight, on their way to her suite; that's how corporate sex affairs work.

Jo had arranged for wine to be in the suite. She was pleased to see the open bottle of 1998 Chateau Talbot breathing on the table and the Premier Cru Chablis in the ice bucket.

She poured him the claret and she sipped the Chablis. Both were good. They chatted about work, his family, her friends and the other things they almost had in common; occasional lovers really have little in common, other than sex that is.

He kissed her again, it was nice, he was a good kisser. Being a woman that rarely went with men of her own age or single men, Jo appreciated good technique. She gave far more to an accomplished lover than to an Ok one, 'they bring the best out in me' she always thought, slipping the buttons open on his shirt.

"I'd forgotten how nicely hairy you are," she murmured, peeling his shirt off and kissing his chest.

"Now that's very forgetful of you," he replied, running his hand down Jo's back and grabbing her ample bum. "I hadn't forgotten this."

"Nor me this," she replied her hand slipping into his trousers as they other pulled his belt undone and zip down. He had a good cock. She thought, 'Sturdy and full , quite like my bum,' as her fingers closed round his full erection. She pushed his pants and trousers down in one go.

"Hey steady, hang on."

"No, I want you naked."

"How about you?"

"I want you naked as I am fully dressed."

"Why?"

"I find it a turn on, take your socks off."

He took them off. "Don't you?" She asked moulding herself to his naked body and kissing him.

"Yes Jo, I do."

She smiled and squirmed her body against him. "So it feels."

They sat on the sofa, then laid on it as slowly he undressed her. Naked, she slipped off the sofa onto the deep pile carpet. It felt nice on her back.

"Fuck me here," Jo said looking up at him, raising her knees and opening her legs.

He watched the immensely erotic display and saw her pink lips glistening, signifying her readiness. He did exactly as she asked and fucked her hard and fast on the floor of her suite.

They lay there a while, stroking and touching each other the way confident lovers do. 

"Let's go into the bedroom," Jo suggested ten or fifteen minutes later.

She pulled the duvet down on the King sized bed.

"Lay down."

He did, on his front, his cock now limp. She poured another glass of wine and sat on the edge of the bed as they drank them.

"Was it ok Jo?"

"Yes it was good, just what I needed. I'm going to clean up."

"Together?" He suggested.

"No alone, me first then you."

They did that and then chatted for a while. They watched TV, tuning in to Sky News and catching up with the latest events in the credit crunch, both their jobs being affected by that and the imminent recession. When the subject moved away from business and onto Madonna's impending divorce Jo suddenly said.

"I have a present for you."

"Really?

"Yes, close your eyes. No better still, this," she said going back to the lounge and returning with the silk French knickers he had taken off her earlier. She tied them round his eyes, the silk was smooth on his face; it felt and smelled good and completely cut off all sight.

"Stay there, I'll be five minutes"

He couldn't work out what she was up to, but assumed she was putting something on. When he heard her say "You can remove the blindfold now" and he could see what she had put on, it was something that he would never have guessed. 

Jo looked amazing in the corset. 

Her breasts were pushed up and together and looked so much fuller and larger than when they had just had sex. Her evidently extremely hardened nipples made clear indentations in the bra part of the corset. She was wearing white stockings hitched high up her thighs by the white suspenders, so that there was just a small gap between the top of the stockings and the lace round the bottom of the corset. She wasn't wearing panties and he could see the small patch of neatly trimmed, pubic hair poking out beneath the lace, their darkness emphasised by the white lace and silk. 

All that was wonderful, but is was the corset itself and what it did to her body that most aroused him. She was standing, one hand on her hip with one leg in front of the other. She looked fantastic.

The white silk with the strong stays inside it, slid inwards from just beneath her breasts to form the tiniest of waists. It looked miniscule, like a young girl's and seemed small enough for his two hands to circle it. From there, the luxuriantly erotic garment flared out in the most delicious of curves, creating a fullness and voluptuousness to her hips, the like of which he had never seen on a woman.

"Oh Jo, you look amazing," he breathed his erection rapidly returning.

She saw that and stared at it. "And so do you?"

"I didn't know you liked corsets."

Jo got onto the bed on all fours alongside him.

"Neither did I, until someone bought me a basque a year or so ago."

"Really and what did that cause you to do?" He asked reaching out and stroking firstly, the silk of the corset and then, the full, roundness of Jo's arse.

Letting her head and upper body fall forward so that her face rested on her arms she said.

"It caused me to get fucked up my arse."



The Power of Clothing Pt. 06



Ok, now onto what are undoubtedly one of the biggest clothing turn-ons of all -- stockings; and that counts for women as well as men.

Sammi is Amanda and Kevin's daughter. Amanda is Kevin's second wife. Gareth is Kevin's son by his first marriage.

It's not essential, but is preferable to read this series of tales on clothing and sex in the order I wrote them.

*

Chapter 1

Samantha, or Sammi as she insisted everyone other than her mother call her, didn't lose her virginity until she was well into her nineteenth year. By her twenty-first birthday she had only had two lovers, both at university. Before she was twenty-three, she needed her toes as well as her ten fingers to count the men she had slept with.

Chapter 2

"Oh my, you sexy little thing," he said as he slid his hand up Sammi's skirt.

"Why?"

"Wearing stockings aren't you," he said pulling her long skirt to one side where the slit was up one side.

She felt good hearing him say that and even better seeing the look of desire and admiration on his face as he looked at the lacy tops of Sammi's stocking on her left leg. He couldn't see any more for the skirt was still covering her thong covered mound and her other leg.

They were at Sammi's family and family friends twenty-first birthday party. She had already had her party for her close, young friends at a nearby restaurant and the one with the girls was arranged for later in the month at a club in London. This one was in a marquee attached to the large family house and was attended by family and friends who, in the main were much older than her. She hadn't really wanted it, but her parents had insisted. As they had insisted on it being a posh, black tie and long gown do, 'fucking snobs' she often thought.

It was around two in the morning and the party was starting to wind down. Many of the older people had left, but the disco was still going and people were dancing and standing around drinking. Sammi had been dancing with Gareth, a friend of her brother. He was in investment banking, some sort of derivatives trader and earned, so the story went, around a million a year. He was in his early thirties, handsome, quick-witted, a bit of a bastard with women, a heavy drinker and drug taker and he was Sammi's half brother, they shared Kevin as a father.

After dancing for some time they had strolled out of the marquee into the large garden. It was dark, but nice and warm, although everywhere was damp from the earlier downpour. From visiting with Sammi's real brother, a corporate lawyer, before he bought a flat in Notting Hill, Gareth knew the house and gardens quite well. He also knew his half sister, his best friend's full sister quite well and had always fancied her as, Sammi had to admit, she did him. She had, therefore, been flattered and quite excited at the attention Gareth had shown to her.

Sammi didn't have now, and never really had had a regular boy friend. She had lost her virginity shortly after going to university to an almost total stranger. She met him at a very boozy and druggy party where the third and fourth year students welcomed the newcomers like her, or so they were told. In fact, it wasn't really an opportunity for the older students to welcome the younger ones, it was them creating the opportunity to fuck the new girls, and that had worked with her. Not at the party, but less than a week later

She did well at uni and by the start of her third year she was set to get a 2:1 degree in English. She hadn't done so well with men, though. After the brief fling with her virginity taker, they had been on a few dates, but they didn't seem to work well. Yes, she snogged a few other guys and, of course one or two got their hands on her tits or up her skirt, well not literally for Sammi, like most of the female students almost never wore them, instead preferring jeans. A couple of guys had undressed her to her bra and panties and one or two had made her cum with their fingers as she had them with her hand, but until just before Christmas in her third year she still hadn't 'gone all the way' again. 

Carl was a post graduate and she fell for him. He was well off and had his own flat nearby where Sammi got herself shagged two or three times a week. Regular sex with an older attractive guy fancied by most of her friends, made her feel much better. It was also quite a relief for she was beginning to think there might be something wrong with her. 

She readily admitted to herself and friends in chat rooms and other sites, to being bi-curious as the saying goes. She had never done anything with another girl, but had been propositioned a couple of times since being at uni: she didn't, though, feel anything for the rather butch, cropped hair overweight uglies who made up the university's lesbian fraternity.

However, as with many, probably most, university affairs, it began to end, amicably, with the onset of final exams and finished completely when Sammi came home. Neither of them had the will to try to make it work when shagging had the inconvenience of a hundred miles round trip.

Although, nothing serious had happened between Sammi and her half-brother, they had always been close, but they didn't see each other very often. It was rather difficult for her mum, Amanda, Kevin's second wife, to have too constant a reminder of the woman on whom Kevin had cheated with her. She felt terrible about that.

It was after Sammi's eighteenth birthday party when Gareth was staying at their house that she and he first been intimate. She had cried in his arms as they kissed and he had undone her bra. She had sobbed more when they kissed more and he put his hand in her panties. And she had both sobbed and cried when he had made her cum and she had masturbated him. Between then and now they had met infrequently at family dos, but they had maintained an email contact in which they had discussed their incestuous relationship. 

Knowing full well it would never go anywhere, other than Sammi, maybe becoming another conquest, Gareth didn't give a fuck about that side of it. She had gorgeous, long blonde hair, a cute face, nice tits, a bit small, but a great arse and fabulous legs, that was all that mattered. 'One day', he would muse, particular after a line or two or a few smokes, thinking how clever he was at the rhyming, 'She'll make a great lay.'

It was different for Sammi and she agonised over the times she had any form of sex with him. She had to admit to herself, however, that there was some form of power or something directing her feelings towards him. She had never been promiscuous, he was the first boy to: remove her bra, suck her nipples and make her cum. He was the first boy she had wanked. Was she using him as trial runs, she often wondered or, was she in love with him? She had no real answers to such questions.

At her twenty first, Gareth first kissed her in a dark alleyway between the garage and the marquee. He first touched her tits when they were in the conservatory off the main dining room, which Sammi knew was locked from the inside so the only way in was the door they had just come through, which she had locked behind them.

They didn't shag in the conservatory, although, he did play with her tits, get them out of her bra, put his hand up her skirt and he did find her secret, she was wearing self-support stockings. It was just after finding them, lifting her skirt up and looking at them when he said.

"Remind me of something Sammi." 

"What Gareth."

"I don't seem to remember where your bedroom is?"

Surprised and, with her inexperience of such situation, a little shocked Sammi stammered.

"And why would you want to know that Gareth?"

"Because my lovely, little, sexy, stocking-wearing, minx of a sister I think I need to fuck you and I don't think you would want me to do that here would you?"

Chapter 3

Sammi had never owned a pair of stockings. She had never worn stockings and had never had the inclination to buy any. That is until she was shopping with her mum in Harvey Niks for her ball gown for her party.

She had tried on several dresses before deciding upon a deep blue, almost black, floor-length number.

"It sets off madam's hair so beautifully," the Sloany, plumb-voiced sales assistant said referring to Sammi's almost natural long, shoulder-length, blonde hair.

Naturally, as youngsters' posh frocks tend to be it was low cut. It had thin spaghetti straps and a plunging front that showed off just enough of her respectable B going on C cup boobs to be interesting, but not so much as to be crass or vulgar; something her mother would never condone. As she'd looked in the mirror she had thought for no reason at all, 'A scoop them out easy' job adding the extra thought of 'Pity there's no one to scoop them out.'

The dress was tight beneath her boobs, round her waist and over her pert bum and then flared out as it plunged down her, not as long as she wished they were, legs. It had what the assistant called, 'erotically interesting' slits up both sides, which ended over midway between her knees and hip bones.

"Yes I'll have that," Sammi said to the girl, as she looked at her mum. "Ok mum?" After all she was paying the six hundred quid for it.

"Yes dear, that will be fine." She handed the girl her HN charge card saying. "Look I have to run, I'm meeting Marcia for lunch, so if you need anything else, any accessories just charge them to this." Then she was gone.

"Is there anything else you need?" The assistant asked.

"I don't know, such as?"

"Shoes, maybe a brooch or scarf, perhaps a shawl?"

"No I'm ok for those thanks."

"Underwear to match?"

"That's a good idea."

Between them they chose a very dark blue, matching bra and panty set, more of a thong, well half-way between a thong and panties, all lacy and cutting right across the middle of her round, pert cheeks.

"Will you wear tights?"

"I usually do and my legs aren't tanned enough to go without."

"How about stockings instead, they are very fashionable?"

"I've never worn them."

"Why not try them," the assistant, Pippa, said.

"Ok." 

Pippa gave her a pair and said pop into the changing room, they are self-support.

Keeping her tee and vee-neck sweater on Sammi took her jeans off and slid the stockings up her legs. She thought they looked good and certainly they felt good. Standing looking in the mirror in her panties and the stockings, Sammi was surprised to hear a knock on the door. Pippa came in.

"Wow," she said standing behind Sammi, maybe a little too close, and putting her hand on her shoulder, Pippa went on. "You look gorgeous," as Sammi felt a squeeze on her shoulder and Pippa's hip pressing against her bottom. "Do they feel good? Wearing them always makes me feel so sexy."

Sammi gulped as she realised Pippa was making a move on her. 

That had happened several times at uni and she had declined each time, she felt she had no interest in girls, but then realised, they had been real dykes at uni, not lipsticks, as she had read Pippa's type were known.

She had to agree, though, that they felt good and did, indeed make her feel sexy. Not enough to make her respond to Pippa, who was indeed making a pass at the pretty young blonde, but she did think of her that night in bed when her hand crept between her legs.

Chapter 4.

Nobody had spoken to Sammi like that before. She had never been in quite such a position before and, certainly, she had never been with such an experienced man before; the rumours of Gareth's conquests and lurid love life were legend among the girls in the London suburb where they both lived. 

At first, she had been shocked and surprised when he had said about fucking her. Even at uni, few men used that phrase to a girl's face. But after saying it, as he kissed her more, pinched her nipples and went on with. "Girls in stockings do it for me, so come on Sam, where's the bedroom," she started to feel more mature, wanted and, oddly, more feminine. 'Amazing,' she thought, 'what your brother saying he wants to fuck you can do to a girl?' 

That said, she knew she should resist. Gareth was a tart, really. This was purely sex on his part and she knew that was all he wanted. She guessed that he would 'fuck her and forget her' as the rumours said he had with so many others. 

As it happened, she wasn't quite right. True, he had slept with loads of girls, but then that's part of the game, along with booze and drugs, with City boys. And true also that he didn't want to go permanent with a girl. Sammi intrigued him, she appealed to his convoluted, licentious, wanton, no holds barred type of intellect; the type that can cope with taking enormous, financial risks at work, spending ten hours a day mainly screaming down a phone then going out boozing and dining with clients to the early hours and then doing it all over again the next day. Gareth rarely had more than six hours sleep a night and often had only three or four, and it was a rare, almost unknown night when he didn't go to bed drunk, stoned or up to his eyeballs in coke or pills.

"We can't," she replied. 

"Why not?"

Although Sammi was usually highly articulate and quick with words, she was out of her depth in this situation. Lying in the arms of a sexually sophisticated older man with the top of her ball gown rolled down, her breasts out of her bra and the skirt pushed up round her waist so he could see and stroke the lacy tops of her stockings, was totally new territory to her and made it difficult for her logical mind to frame a reasonable argument against his suggestion that they should fuck. He had added, "Now you're twenty one and no longer a teenager and little girl, but a grown woman," which served to reduce her areas for verbal manoeuvre.

That he had previously undressed her, sucked her nipples and made her cum with his fingers, served to make it even moer difficult for her to think of a reason to say no. She didn't know how to handle the situation or Gareth. She knew she should try to stop him; all of her mind and social conditioning told her that. Her body and her female needs, though, told her something completely different. She was torn and confused.

"Well it's my party, someone will miss us." She said, trying to find a way out, but really just digging a deeper hole.

"So you do want to then?" He asked, slipping his hand further up her skirt. "And it's only being missed that's the problem?" He went on using his stock dealing, telephone techniques on her as his hand brushed against her lacy thong, right between her legs. 

That made Sammi's body jerk. Gareth noticed that, it was part of the chase, he left his hand there, his fingers resting on her lace covered mound, softly pressing against it.

"Yes, no, stop it Gareth."

"Stop what? This?" He asked pressing more firmly with his fingers.

"No, trying to get me to bed."

"So you want me to continue with this do you?" He asked slipping his finger inside the elastic of her thong.

"No, oh shit." Sammi stammered totally confused.

"Tell you what," Gareth suggested.

"What?"

"Go and have a walk round the marquee, get a few people some drinks and have a chat to Mandy and Kevin," he said, mentioning Sammi's mum and dad. "Tell me which one is your bedroom, I'll wait for you there and then you come there. Ok?"

"I can't."

"Yes you can," he said wiggling his fingers between her legs as he bent his head and kissed her nipple. Feeling absolutely no resistance from her, he sucked her nipple, pressed harder on her pussy lips and said.

"You know you want to really, don't you?"

The feelings were so good. Sammi felt so good. She was so aroused and she had thought of this for so long, in a forbidden fruit sort of way.

"Don't you?" He repeated.

She felt slightly pathetic, but very grown up when she heard herself whimpering. "Yes."

It was easier to do than she had expected. The remaining guests had broken into several smaller groups and were all either, chatting away or, were dancing. She could see that she would not be missed.

Her heart pounding and her pulse racing, Sammi climbed the stairs, and walked down the short corridor that linked the main house to the extension over the garage, which was Sammi's self-contained apartment, following the route she had described to her half-brother.

She opened the door, slid inside and shut it behind her. There were no lights on, but some of the lights from the garden were shining through the window creating areas of light and dark.

"Gareth," she whispered, expecting him to be sitting in the lounge.

"In here," he replied from the adjoining bedroom.

She walked into that room. The lighting was similar to the lounge, patches of semi-light and dark.

"You made it then," she heard him say from the direction of the bed, which was in almost complete 

darkness.

"Yes, yes I did," Sammi stammered, feeling hugely nervous.

"Good, any problems?"

"No, not really," she whispered, adding rather tactlessly. "But we need to be quick,"

Gareth chuckled. "Ten minutes ago you didn't want to do anything and now you want it quickly."

Feeling a little hurt, she replied. "You know what you mean.

"Of course, I do, I was just joking babe. Come over here."

She walked towards her bed. Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, Sammi was amazed to see that Gareth was in her bed, that his clothes were strewn across the floor, he was drinking from a bottle of champagne and that the sheets were turned down to his waist. She saw his reasonably, well-defined, quite hairy chest. As he saw her looking, he smiled, pulled the sheet tight across his body and ran his hand down the outside.

She gulped when she saw his hand stop, right on a large mound. He was as clearly erect as he was clearly well-endowed. She didn't remember that from three years ago.

"Drink?" Gareth asked holding out the champagne bottle.

For some reason, the sheer decadence of the situation appealed to Sammi. She was a romantic at heart. The situation instantly reminded her of scene from the book Brideshead Revisited. Imagining herself as Julia Flyte, she took the bottle, raised it to her lips and took a deep swig, coughing and spluttering when Gareth reached out and cupped her breast.

You realise I am naked under here don't you?" He asked completely unnecessarily.

"Yes," Sammi whispered.

"And you can see what you have done to me can't you?" He asked taking her hand and placing it on the sheet, right on his erection.

It felt lovely to both of them.

"Can't you?" He repeated, moving her hand up and down its length.

That made Sammi feel even more aroused. 

"Yes, Gareth," she whispered, any last vestige of resistance that may have been lurking in her vanishing as he slid her hand inside the sheet and placed it right on his cock.

It was big, it was hot, it was hard, it was throbbing and it felt fucking wonderful, to Sammi. Her natural female instincts took over and she wrapped her fingers round it. Although highly inexperienced, for she had only held a couple or three different pricks, she seemed to know exactly what to do. She moved her hand in little pumping movements as slowly Gareth pulled the sheet back. They both looked at his big cock in her little hand.

"Nice?" He asked. Well she thought it was a question, but realised it may have been a statement. Whatever, she again whispered.

"Yes."

He had another swig from the champagne bottle and held it up for her.

"It's your turn now Sammi?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've shown you mine, it's your turn to show me yours."

"How?"

He put her hand back on his erection and said. "I want to see those sexy stockings. Undress for me Sammi."

The combination of the champagne, the sheer decadence of the scene, the sensations from his cock and, she realised with a jolt, the mention of her stockings, got to her. It excited her, it made her lose her inhibitions and made her feel bold.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 06



She pulled one of the straps down.

"No, not like that, stand up. Stand in that pool of light there," he said nodding to the other side of the bed.

She walked round the bed as Gareth, gently stroking his erection said, huskily. Stand there and take your clothes off for me.

Whilst some might argue he was treating her in a demeaning fashion, others, Sammi included, felt differently. Gareth had that unusual knack of being able to use his charm and forceful approach to make women feel good about themselves. He made Sammi feel so wanted, so admired, so feminine and so fucking horny she would have done anything he asked.

Looking at him stroking his cock she slid the two straps off her shoulders and down her arms. Sammi took her arms out from the straps but held the top in place. She felt like a stripper and that she realised she liked, she felt good.

His eyes never left her, but he whispered. "Take the top down, show me yer tits Sam."

Crass and basic that phrase may have been, but to Sammi in her advanced state of inexperienced arousal it was pure erotic eloquence.

She reached behind her and undid the short zip, which loosened the long dress. Then by simply moving her hands away from her chest the front at the top folded downwards. Her breasts, encased in the hugely expensive and very delicate lace cups were on view to him, as much as they could be in the dim light.

"Now the bra, Sam," he said

She obliged and dropped it on the floor.

"Mmmmm lovely, but then I knew that and they taste great too."

Sammi was surprised to find that she was enjoying herself.

Holding the dress by her hips she wiggled her body. Gareth found that to be highly sensuous.

"Oh yes babe, shake it for me," he somewhat slurred, the huge amount of booze and earlier drugs getting to him.

Sammi smiled as she slithered the tight dress down over her hips, along her legs and let it fall into a pool on the floor around her feet. Remembering she would have to go back to the party she picked it up and carefully draped it across a chair and then turned to face him.

"Oh fucking hell Sam."

"What?"

"You look fucking amazing in those fucking stockings, come nearer."

In most circumstances, Sammi found the excessive use of the word fuck or fucking to be simply pathetic and rather crass. With Gareth, the way he used it and in the current circumstances, it almost became poetry.

She did as he asked, he groaned as she approached. Everything was giving Sammi more confidence, making her feel better, sexier and hornier. And everything, particularly Sammi's stockings was making Gareth want to fuck her so badly.

"Get yer knickers off Sam."

Sammi had found her confidence, she was beginning to realise the power of arousal and how women can twist men round their little fingers when they have excited them to the 'tipping point.'

As coquettishly as she could manage Sammi said, softly. "Please usually follows a request like that Gareth, especially when asking a girl to drop her knickers for you."

He wasn't that used to girls talking back to him and at first was going to object, tell her to piss off or rip the fucking things off her, but this was Sammi, his half sister, the girl he came nearere to loving than anyone else, and she was wearing stockings.

"Please Sammi, will you take your fucking knickers off?" Gareth asked laughing.

"As you put it so eloquently Gareth, of course I will," she grinned back. She slithered out of them and put one foot on the bed and started rolling a stocking down.

"Hey, hey." Gareth said. "Not so fast, let's leave those sexy stockings right where they are."

"Why?" Sammi asked innocently.

"Because I want to fuck you in them, that's why."

When they had sex, whether wearing the stockings added to Sammi's pleasure or not she wasn't sure. What she did know, was that Gareth made her cum far heavier than either of her two previous lovers.

What she subsequently found out was that wearing stockings did such amazing things to her. So amazing that over the next few months she had a series of lovers, all of whom said broadly the same things. "Leave those on, I want to fuck you in your stockings."

She did and so did they.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 07



Sometimes, it's not the clothing that arouses us, but the lack of it, especially no panties.

*

"So been screwing the birthday girl have you?" Marcia said to Gareth as they were eating breakfast.

It was at the last knockings of Sammi's twenty first birthday party. There were two servings of bacon and eggs, with all the trimmings; the early one was between six and seven for those still partying and the later one, from nine onwards, for those who had lost the will to go on and had crashed in the marquee or the pool changing rooms where Amanda and Kevin and thoughtfully provided loads of sunbeds, loungers, lilos and blankets. Most had been occupied for the past few hour, some even for sleeping on!.

"Fuck off Marcia, what do you mean?" the, City boy derivatives trader in his early thirties snarled.

"Come on don't be pissed at aunty," the forty five-year-old immensely wealthy wife of one of the leading consultant psychologists in the UK said, smiling and putting her hand on Gareth's arm, after making sure no one could see them.

"What got you worked up about our Sandra Dee? Her stockings? Did you get your sweaty paws up her silky draws?" Marcia asked almost singing the words from Grease.

"How the fuck did you know she wore stockings?"

"You should know by now darling, aunty Marcia knows everything, she wants to know."

"And why would you want to know about Sammi's stockings and whether I shagged her not?"

Marcia wasn't Gareth's aunt at all, but they had used that term ever since their first time, when Gareth had said "It is a bit like having sex with my aunt." He was her friend Amanda's husband's son from his first marriage. Close, but not web feet territory, and that had been sufficient for Marcia and him to have been having sex on and off for nearly ten years. She preferred young men to those her own age.

"No particular reason," she said slipping her finger into his dress shirt, which had three buttons undone and his black tie draped round his neck. She slowly rubbed him between his breasts. 

"Other than checking up on my property."

"I'm not your property."

"Really?" Marcia said moving closer and staring right into Gareth's eyes. 

She pointedly slid one hand into the back pocket of her very tight, black, shiny trousers. That caused the front of her button up dress shirt, which she had worn with black tie earlier, to gape open. Whereas, Gareth had left three buttons undone, Marcia's shirt had four unbuttoned. That meant the shirt was open to more than half way down between her breasts. She was not well-endowed in that area, having only small mounds capped by large, dark nipples, so she could get away with showing so much. That is until the shirt gaped, then whoever was looking would see all and that is precisely what Gareth saw.

As she saw him looking right where she wanted him to, she again glanced round to make sure there were no onlookers. Reassured, she moved even closer. She caught his wrist with one hand and placed it on her pert, shapely, nicely rounded bum. She slid the other down his front and rubbed his bulge, as she leaned forward and kissed him. As she had anticipated he, firstly stroked all over each orb and then squeezed her bum and kissed her back.

"Ok you bitch," he grunted, recognising that she was the only woman that could always get to him. All the others, his age, younger, older, models, hookers, fellow city traders and bankers, starlets and MILFs, he could take or leave. With Marcia, he always came back for more.

Chapter 2.

Marcia didn't wear underwear. She didn't need a bra, having such small tits, and felt that without panties she, not only got rid of any ridges under the ridiculously tight jeans, trousers and skirts she favoured, but she also gained such fantastic sensations. As she had said to Amanda, Sammi's mum, Gareth's step-mother and one of her best friends, although Marcia occasionally also dallied with her husband Kevin, but then as she thought to herself, 'who hasn't?' feeling rather sorry for her friend.

"It's like walking around with a vibrator up your cunt."

Marcia and Stephen had a pretence of a happy marriage. As it happens they got on quite well, for neither really believed in love, but there it ended. True, they attended many functions together, both the medical ones that resulted from his job and the charity, hunting, showbiz, sporting and celebrity ones that came about because of Marcia's family connections and massive wealth, now well into the billion plus sterling. 

Marcia had never been faithful to Stephen, but until recently Stephen had not thought of straying. Well he did have hookers and escorts, but they didn't really count, did they? Marcia had a number of fuckbuddies, had a penchant for young guys, particularly golf and tennis coaches and ski instructors and recently, she had found herself being more and more attracted to women, particularly younger ones. 

Although she had absolutely no evidence whatsoever, Marcia was always thinking that Stephen was having affairs. After all he was lovely. Tall and slim with long, blonde hair turning grey, he had a great body and dressed immaculately managing to be cool and stylish without seeming to be trying to look too young. Not an easy knack, but he pulled it off both with formal and casual clothes. 

Most of her friends told her how lucky she was to have such a gem. Marcia, with her lack of empathy and understanding of other people, ascribed her own standards and morals to her husband and to others. Stephen, a psychologist understood such thinking, after all that was what he was trained to do. He accepted that his wife would assume he would behave as she did, but until he had recruited Kate, it hadn't really entered his mind, despite many opportunities. 

He had come so close with Kate, his Medical Assistant for a couple of months. So close that they had ended up in a hotel room masturbating, but not fucking.

The most uncanny aspect of his brief relationship with Kate, was how Marcia seemed to know his feelings about his assistant; almost before he did. She used those in bed. Several times, after an emotionally steamy day with Kate, Stephen would get into bed with Marcia. She would somehow sense his aroused thinking about Kate and her full breasts and slightly oversized bum and would start talking about her and them. That would arouse Stephen even more and several times as he fucked his wife, not only did he make out it was Kate, but Marcia made out she was her as well.

"Feel my big tits Stephen," she would moan as he slid into her and "Oh yes Stephen you're making Kate cum" as he gave her an orgasm.

Yes, not only did Marcia not wear underwear, she also had an unusually voracious sexual appetite, a wide range of sexual interests, well fetishes really, no discernable morals at all and a totally selfish approach, "If I want it, I'll have it and fuck the consequences." Marcia lived for the buzz.

Chapter 3.

"Follow me, big boy," Marcia said removing her hand from Gareth's bulge, which rather disappointingly hadn't started to grow.

"Where we going?"

"To fuck, where do you think? That is, of course, if you're still able to after sticking it to Ms Goody Twoshoes, the blessed Sammi." Marcia replied leading him out of the marquee and round the side of the garage. 

"You'd be surprised at her," Gareth replied.

"Darling, I was totally gobsmacked when I saw her stockings, is there more to know?"

"Maybe," Gareth said, unusually for him feeling protective and warm towards Sammi. Usually when he'd fucked a bird he didn't want to know and didn't care what happened to her. Sammi seemed different somehow, but then half-sisters probably do.

"So where we going."

"Well, the lovely Amanda provided some of her closest friends, including moi of course, with a refuge. A little dressing room and loo for our exclusive use."

"Mmmm, handy."

Walking up the narrow and rather steep back staircase, Gareth's face was only inches from Marcia's undulating arse. He never ceased to be amazed at its awesome shape and her wiggle, which was the most erotic he had ever seen. He ran his fingers over the two orbs.

"Still no underwear, M?"

"Of course not, you know I don't wear such stuff, prefer the freedom me."

The mere though of her nakedness under the tight trousers and her bare tits in the shirt started to get him hard. When Marcia had come on to him, Gareth had wondered whether he'd be able to perform again, for he and Sammi had gone back for the second half a couple of hours after their first sex at around two. Those fucking stockings had a lot to answer for, he told her as he shagged on all fours.

Luckily, he'd prepared well for the party and had taken it fairly easy during the early stages. 

Unlike most Thursday nights, when the city boys partied in London and any other night when they could justify two hundred pound bottles of Chateau Petrus, a few Doms, a visit or two from their friendly dealer, often a few hugely expensive hookers and a hugely expensive dinner as entertaining clients, Gareth had been careful. He hadn't popped a cocktail of pills, snorted numerous lines of coke and shoved any alcohol put in front of him down his throat. So he had got through Friday ok and he had had carefully planned Saturday. 

At seven he'd take two Viagra on the basis that their effect would last longer than the 'not to be exceeded' dosage of 'no more than one in any twenty four hours'; all his mates and fellow budding masters of the universe and he knew such warnings were for the birds not for real men like them. He took them as a 'just in case' not, of course, because he needed them, but then all the other stuff he took could slow a bloke down a bit, the city boys always told each other. And in any, case wasn't that why pills were invented to make up for where real life disappointed or let you down? 

Apart from the Champagne before dinner and whilst fucking Sammi, twice, and the white and red wine at dinner, which didn't really count, being wine, he'd been careful and not mixed his drinks. He was pretty sure he'd stayed on vodka all night, but maybe there was a dram or two of single malt and did he have a Henessy XO or two after dinner? Still, as a near million a year trader he had been trained very well in being able to take his drink, he hardly ever fell ever and couldn't remember the last time he passed out. 

What with the credit crisis, the manic trading and the total lack of any knowledge about what was happening by anyone, least of all Gareth, who ran a ten man desk, he'd had a tough week and could well have done without this party. Hence, his careful preparation; you didn't earn a mil a year without being able to plan, he always told his team. So, just after arriving he had taken a couple of qualludes and during the evening he had a few lines. But then, everyone one was, weren't they, well at least the twenty or so city boys at the party were. 

He was quite proud of himself, therefore, after Marcia had locked the door behind them, to feel his cock growing as if to order. True, he was laying on a small bed; true, she had taken her shirt off and let him suck her fucking amazing nipples; true she had stood before him in the tight, shiny, black trousers and gradually eased them off revealing her nakedness under them; true she had flashed her totally bald cunt at him and true she had them completely undressed him. 

'Ok' he had to admit 'it was taking longer than normal.' 'Ok' he acknowledged, 'Marcia was working harder than normal, and 'for sure' he muttered, when with her mouth stuffed full of his cock, she'd asked, "Any good babe?"

"Come on stud," Marcia whispered her tongue licking the length of his semi-hard dick as her finger found his anal hole. "You want that Gal?"

"Yes."

"Will it help?"

"Sure?"

"What are you thinking? She asked, sliding her finger up to the first knuckle into him.

"How I want to fuck you?" He replied diplomatically, scared to say that he was really thinking' I hope the fuck that I get hard soon."

"I hope you aren't thinking of Sandra Dee are you?"

"No, of course not, not with you here."

"Yeah, right bollocks," Marcia said pushing hard with her finger so it slid well into Gareth's arse, hurting a bit, as it was intended."

"Come on Em, you know me."

"Yes I fucking well do know you and know well that you're thinking of our little virginal nun in her sexy hold up stockings aren't you?"

This was a tactic Marcia had worked with several men including her husband Stephen; find their real turn on and talk to them about that.

"No, honest I was thinking of your arse in those trousers."

"In them? What's wrong with it out of them?" Marcia asked wiggling round so her bum was closer to him. Her finger still up his arse.

Gareth laughed, stroking her beautifully rounded bum that showed not the slightest hint of sagging or, worse, cellulite. She really did have a great arse, he thought slipping his finger into the crease between the perfectly symmetrical cheeks. 

Still not fully hardening, he was getting worried. He knew from previous times with hookers that he was in that viscious circle; it doesn't get hard, you think too much, thern worry and that stops you getting hard. Twice he'd done that with thousand a night hookers, the bitches.

"And what, may I ask is Ms Goody Two Shoes arse like, or were you too busy with her lovely little tits?"

"Both are great," he replied.

"So you are thinking of her?"

"No, I'm not."

"I bet you would like to be here right now wouldn't you? Like when we had that hooker, her and me fucking you?"

"Sounds divine," Gareth grunted his fingers finding the wet warmness of Marcia's pussy. 'Fuck she really does have hot juices,' he thought wondering if the temperature of women's secretions varies very much. He made a mental note to give the new trainee that as a project to research, but was brought back to the wonderful reality of Marcia burying his cock deep in her mouth and sucking him long and hard. He still wasn't hard though, he guiltily realised.

"I know you would like darling Sammi sitting right across your face right now, her young sweet cunt dropping its juices right into your mouth as I suck your cock and you suck her fucking nylons wouldn't you?"

"Oh God," he grunted. "Would you like that Em? Would you like Sammi to be here so you could suck her cunt.?"

"I'd rather she was sucking mine, perhaps I'll ask her, you reckon she swings?"

"No idea, but most girls do a bit nowadays," he said feeling those welcomingly familiar hardening sensations as Marcia continued.

"Wouldn't you like to walk behind both of us with us wearing tight trousers and you fondling our bums?

"Finding out neither of you was wearing panties?" He offered.

"Yes both of us without our knickers," Marcia grunted between sucking and licking his cock that was now nearly there. "And then, Gary as we take them off you see we are both wearing stockings and we say, fuck us in these stockings Gareth." 

He was so relieved to find that he was now fairly hard and that Marcia had climbed onto the bed, got onto all fours and was saying.

"Now fuck me, not Sammi."

She was soaking. 'But then' he smiled as he slid so easily into his third cunt, well second, but third time, of the evening, 'She always is fucking wet.' Briefly wondering if she really was a nympho, he pushed himself as far into Marcia as he could and then held his cock embedded right up her. Gareth then wrapped himself round her body his hands finding her almost flat tits, his fingers pinching her long, dark nipples. It felt good, it was comfortable, he liked laying like that the warmth of her insides gripping his pleasantly respectable erection, his fingers pinching and rolling her long, rubbery nipples.

"Harder, cityboy," she grunted.

He pinched harder.

"No not there you fucking maniac, fuck me harder I mean. I thought you had gone to sleep."

In fact, Gareth could easily have done that. What with all the booze, he had actually drunk several single malts and a few Hennessy XOs in addition to the wine and champagne, the line, or was it two, of coke Bret, a broker he worked with, had provided and of course the two shags with his half sister, he was feeling tired. However, that he put down to the time, it must have been almost getting light, real cityboys aren't really affected by booze or drugs are they?

He started to fuck Marcia. He started pulling almost all the way out then plundering himself all the way in. It didn't work properly. She was so wet and had her legs wide open so it was a bit like fucking a jelly, nice and smooth, but no friction, he thought.

"Close your fucking legs," he growled.

"Why?" Marcia asked knowing that many men, including Gareth's father Kevin liked her 'wide-open' position.

"Its better," he slurred.

Marcia could feel this going badly wrong. Gareth was far further gone than she had thought and she was worried he wouldn't be able to perform properly, he hadn't done very well so far. It happened sometimes she knew, but not to her. Marcia prided herself on that. In all the time she had been unfaithful to her husband by committing adultery, which she often giggled, coincided almost perfectly with the length of their marriage, for she'd had two "little adventures" on their six-week honeymoon, no man had ever 'lost it' with her. Gareth, though, had come near a couple of times and this was, by far the most worrying.

She did close her legs a bit and that gave him more friction, but also applied more pressure to his cock, which was not fully hard. As he slid backwards after one deep thrust, he obviously went a little too far and he popped right out.

"Oh fuck," he moaned grasping his dick and trying to find the way back in.

"Come on Gareth for Christ's sake," Marcia rather unhelpfully urged.

He began to panic. He didn't seem to be able to find the way in and, certainly, he couldn't get the angle right, that's not always easy when a woman's arse is pointing upwards. On top of that, the more he tried the more he softened and the more his head seemed to be losing touch with his body.

Marcia felt and sensed what was happening. She had two choices, get dressed and walk out and maybe try a get another fuck from someone or, work on Gareth. Her manipulative mind weighed up the options. There were only two other guys there who she could reasonably proposition. Kevin, Gareth's dad, who she'd been having an affair with for a while. It was his and Amanda's party, though, and the chances of him being able to get away and spend time with her were limited and Ken. He was one of her husband Stephen's medical colleagues with whom she had bonked at conferences she had attended with Stephen, which was a very rare event. Again, though, she doubted if he would be able to get away from his fat, straight-laced shrew of a wife. So working on the bird in the hand principle' she decided to fuck Gareth.

"Don't worry baby," she cooed turning and falling flat on the bed. Come and lay here next to aunty.

Marcia probably was a nymphomaniac. Certainly, she had a need for a great deal of sex on a very regular basis and, without doubt, when she started on a sexual jaunt there was little, in fact nothing she could think of, that could stop her. So now, naked, on a bed with one of her young studs, she smiled, and having had his dick in her, she had to finish.

"Let aunty get you hard," Gareth heard as if through a badly tuned microphone.

This wasn't that familiar territory to her. Marcia enjoyed sex, not romance. She was in it for the buzz, not the tenderness, the satisfaction not so much the pleasure, the outcome not the chase. To her, the fuck was the objective not the foreplay, which often she forewent. On top of that, men normally followed her, they did as she instructed, she directed events not them. And she rarely, if ever chose extended foreplay. She realised now though, that was needed if she was to get what she wanted and that was for Gareth to fuck her, which was now an emotional as well as strongly physical need for her; she was like a junky needing that fix.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 07



She kissed him, she licked him she stroked his cock and balls and she nibbled his nipples. It helped, but not much.

"I'm sorry Em, must be the booze," he slurred making her realise he much further gone than she had imagined.

"Yeah right, don't worry aunty will sort it out."

Even taking his cock deep into her mouth and stroking his balls had only a modest affect. She knew it just wasn't going to happen.

"Turn over," she ordered.

He did.

She pulled his legs open, there was just enough light for her to see the deep crevice between the cheeks of his arse.

She ran her fingertips along it, right across his anus. His body jerked.

Gareth was now nearly asleep or unconscious. He could just about work out what was going on, but it was more like a dream than reality, nice though.

Marcia leaned forward and ran her still hardened nipples over his back that felt nice, she liked it and did it some more. She wiggled downwards so that her tit was in his crease. She pulled his legs further apart. He vaguely felt things sliding across his back and now the cheeks of his bum, but couldn't quite make out what they were, fingers, a tongue, God knows, he didn't. He couldn't really work out whatwas happening and wasn't actually too sure whether he was with Marcia or Sammi.

Marcia took hold of the slight puffiness of the flesh of her tiny right breast. She squeezed so that the nipple, which is so disproportionately sized to the boob, stood out. It was like one of those things people use to ice cakes in those TV programmes she thought, as she moved the hard piece of rubbery flesh towards Gareth's arse. 

'What the fuck's that?' He thought feeling the pressure on his hole. As he did he reached behind him and found a leg. It was bare, no stocking, so it had to be Marcia, he smiled, pleased with himself for being clever enough to work that out.

She pressed more using her nipple to stimulate and slightly part his sphincter muscle. This was no longer, if it ever had been, for Gareth or them, no this was now for her, it was Marcia's show, Gareth had lost the right to be a partner, he was now her plaything. She reached between her legs and ran her fingers along her still nicely moist lips, lubricating her fingers. She then rubbed them right on his anus.

"Oh uggh yes," he groaned.

Marcia knelt behind him, she pulled him so he was now in the position she had been during Gareth's abortive attempt to fuck her, kneeling, head on the bed, legs open, arse in the air. She pressed with her finger, he grunted, she pressed harder, he moaned. 

Sliding her hand down her own body, over her hard nipples, small breasts, flat stomach and shaved pubis, she found her clit. 'It's the only way' she reconciled as her body reacted to her finger pressing right beside her clit, a not unfamiliar experience for Marcia masturbated most days.

Pulling his cheeks apart with her other hand she buried her face in his arse. The bottom half of his body shook, 'even in a near unconscious state sex still works' she smiled pushing her tongue against his anus. It went in a little way, but not very far. What it did do though was add more lubricant from her spittle, some of which went slightly inside. That was needed for then, rather roughly as she aroused herself with her clit, Marcia shoved her finger up Gareth's arse.

"Oh fuck," he moaned pushing back at the emotionally unwelcome, 'I don't take it up the arse' I'm too macho for that, but physically very welcome sensation as his prostate muscle was sensitised. For several moments she finger fucked Gareth's arse, enjoying the sensation of being in control and loving the feelings from her clit. 

The additional sensations from his arse were too much for Gareth and they took him over the top. Not to an orgasm, but they tipped him from partial awareness to a near unconscious state, where his emotions shut down, but his physical reactions continued. 

It was too dark to see, so Marcia had to remove her hand from her clit and push it between Gareth's legs to find out whether what she had read on the net really did work. It did, he was rock hard.

Quickly, she rolled him onto his front, a moan coming from his mouth as her finger slid out of his arse. She straddled him, reached behind her, grabbed his cock and effortlessly mounted him. She took his hands and held them against her breasts. And like that, without any knowing or emotional involvement from Gareth, she fucked him, until she made herself cum.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 08



Sometimes it's the strangest garments that turn us on. And sometimes it's seeing others wearing them that does it. 



Chapter 1

Kate's life was changing. She had reached her mid-forties, her children were 'off her hands,' her husband had largely lost interest in sex and she was bored. She had tried tennis, but couldn't master the backhand, and had attempted golf, but couldn't handle the four hours walking round with a stranger, often a snob. She had tried cybersex in chat rooms on the internet and had an amazing online affair with a young, American stud. In the end, though, interesting sex needs more than a keyboard and monitor, she found. Sure, she added on a cam and microphone and indulged herself with Dean and a couple of other cyberfriends, but in the end they were virtual and not real, and that made her think. Was that what she was looking for, a real affair?

She had also tried going back to work. The first job had been as a Medical Assistant to a consultant psychologist who, so it turned out, was one of the most eminent in his field in Europe. He was also gorgeous, sexy, interesting and, as things developed between them, extraordinarily horny. 

They had come within a hair's breadth of having an affair. That, and their sexual activity largely revolved around the knee-length, button right up the front, slightly see through and rather too tight, white coat she had to wear as a uniform. They had both reacted encouragingly to the outlines of her underwear through the coat and to the changes in what she wore as the, mainly, much younger other MAs gave 'aunty Kate' their advice. 

That she slightly misused the advice and one day came to work in a far too thin and transparent bra was both unfortunate and persuasive. Her quite prominent nipples on her very prominent 34D chest stood out like beacons. They both recognised that, although wearing the revealing bra was a mistake, it was also her acceptance of Stephen's visual advances and her invitation to investigate further. 

That they did, firstly in front of the mirror in the consulting room's private bathroom when Stephen undid the coat and eased her breasts from the delicate bra and later in a hotel bedroom. They didn't fuck, but they each masturbated as the other looked on. By so doing, Kate left the job after just a month or so, slightly unhappy, but pleased at not having cheated on her husband. 

The way her life has continued since her 'near affair' often makes her wish that she had gone further with Stephen, but she does have relatively high morals and a strong feeling of loyalty to Paul. In her twenty-six years of married life and the two years she was with him before wedlock, Kate has never strayed. Alright, she's had the odd snog at office Christmas parties and the occasional hand on her boob at parties with close friends, but she hadn't gone any further than that. No man other than Paul, or woman come to that she often giggled, has been in her knickers for nearly thirty years.

Chapter 2

Kate had never been to a gym before. Well not since leaving school, which felt a couple of hundred years ago. Then, gyms had climbing frames, ropes and benches, heavy medicine balls and parallel bars. They didn't have the complicated machines and electronic apparatus that scares the hell out of people for fear of not being able to make them work. They didn't have personal trainers, stretching areas, weights and inflated, yard high exercise balls and mostly, they didn't have blaring music and plasma screen televisions.

"So if you sign up Kate, you can use all this whenever you like?"

"Will someone show me how?" She asked the pretty, young, worryingly slim and fit looking Asian-looking sales consultant.

"Oh yes, part of the service is a free assessment."

"Assessment?" Kate asked worried it might be some form of test.

"Yes one of the PTs."

"The what?" Kate asked almost giggling at the double entendre, for in her time PT had a far different meaning to personal trainer.

The girl explained that she would be put through a few exercises and would have a discussion to assess her level of fitness and what she was trying to achieve. 

Assim went on "The PT, will then explain how to use the exercise apparatus and design a course for you. Would you like to look round?"

Assim walked Kate round the gym. They visited the machine rooms, the stretching room the weights area, the wind down and warm up places and the pool with its saunas and Jacuzzis. 

Although she hated the phrase, Kate used it to herself. "I'm fucking gobsmacked," she said, when she popped into the loo. 

It wasn't just the enormous number of exercise machines or the range; it wasn't, either, the blaring music or the plethora of plasma screens showing TV programmes and videos and it wasn't simply the sheer scale of the operation. No, it was the people. Well more to the point, what they were wearing. 

Kate's mind went into a whirr as she saw loads of men and women, boys and girls, males and females running, stretching, rowing and lifting weights. In the main, they were wearing such alluring clothes. The men wore short shorts or tight trousers, singlets or tee shirts and, generally, looked great. 

It was the girls, though, that gave Kate the biggest buzz and, she smiled to herself, 'I'm not even that way inclined.'

Wherever she looked, she saw swaying undulating buttocks, wobbling bums, jiggling breasts of all shapes and sizes and deep and shallow cleavages. Bare thighs and naked midriffs, glistening arms, perspiration dampened chests and legs wet with exertion. There were pumping biceps, calf and upper legs muscles, some lithe, others more chunky. 

Everywhere there was movement, activity and, Kate felt, an atmosphere of restrained erotic energy and sexual promise. She felt almost faint as she looked at the girls' outfits. Hipster, bum hugging long trousers, crops to mid calf, shorts. Both tight and loose, tee shirts, vests, tight bodices, low cut tops and figure hugging leotards. Under the tops she saw the outlines of sports bras and under the trousers and shorts, almost universally, the shadows, of thongs. She saw numerous, unusually prominent pubic mounds inside the tight trousers and several hugely hardened nipples under the thin tops, the wearers of which presumably, she conjectured, didn't have sports bras.

Chapter 3

As Kate was getting ready for her first trip to the gym in her new gear, her mind went back to her times with Stephen. It often did when she was getting dressed, for so much of their very brief fling was involved with her clothing and, to a lesser extent, looking in a mirror. Neither he, nor she had any idea why the white coat became such a big things or just the effect it would have on them, but since then, she had acknowledged that clothing plays such a large part in sexual activity.

Her last working day for Stephen had been awful and terrible at the same time. It was the day after Kate had worn a diaphanous bra and Stephen had seen her nipples through the thin Egyptian cotton of that coat. The day, after he had stood her in front of the mirror and pointed that out to her. The day after, when following weeks of sparring, they had kissed, he had touched her breasts, he had undone the top of the coat and had lifted her full 34d breasts out of the delicate bra as they stared at themselves in the mirror. 

Her last working day for Stephen had started with a strained atmosphere as they both felt concerned about the scene in front of the mirror in the bathroom the previous day. Her last working day hadn't continued like that. The attraction to each other via the white coat was so powerful and addictive it would not have been possible. They tried, but failed to keep their hands from each other. It was no more than half an hour after her arrival that they were kissing again, that he was again undoing the top of the coat, easing her breasts from her bra again and this time kissing, sucking and licking them. It was only moments later that he was pulling the hem of the coat up and feasting his hands and thrilling her entire body by cupping and squeezing the, slightly oversized, but beautifully symmetrical and deliciously pliant cheeks of her ample bum. 

They had stopped, she recalled. She had stopped him going further, although every cell and tissue in her body wanted him to fuck her. But not here, not at work, not over the desk or on the couch in his consulting room. He had suggested his home, but that she couldn't do that. They settled on a hotel and nearly had full sex, but it wasn't right, neither was ready to be unfaithful to their partner. 

On her last day working for him, in that hotel room they had undressed, they had looked at each other's splendid nudity; at her full, slightly sagging breasts, his hairy chest, her somewhat bulging tummy, his flat, athlete's six pack, her curves and rounded hips, his lithe thighs and at each other's genitalia. They stared at his blood engorged, full erection, her soaked pink lips. They had looked, but hadn't touched. But then things had started going wrong. The atmosphere had changed. The enormity of what they were doing hit them; she became nervous and tight, he became worried and started softening. 

Kate had said, half jokingly. "It's not the same without the white coat is it?" Stephen had groaned with frustration, disappointment and embarrassment.

"Wait here," Kate had whispered, getting up from the bed and walking into the sitting room of the suite.

She didn't bother with underwear. She didn't bother doing up the top and bottom four buttons, but she did put on the three-inch wide belt after she had slipped into the white coat she was taking home to launder.

She stood before him in the bedroom and gave him a twirl. Almost immediately he started hardening. She leaned forward, she turned away and bent over. He gazed at her bare breasts bursting out of the coat and at her rounded arse inside it, her crease clearly visible through the thin material. He was then hard.

She lay beside him on the bed. He undid the remaining buttons, but left the belt in place holding the white coat on her, but open. Her near nudity was framed by the coat. Stephen was kneeling beside her. He was holding his cock in his hand. She was involuntarily stroking her neatly trimmed mound and hugely erect nipples. He started to pump his cock, she started to rub her clit. They made a wordless pact. They agreed without saying anything "We will fuck ourselves, but not each other, that way we will remain faithful to our spouses."

Seconds later, on the last day that Kate worked for Stephen, his cock exploded. His sperm shot all over her breasts, which she was invitingly holding together to receive his offering, and onto the white coat.

Chapter 4

"If you don't mind me saying," Assim had said as they were in the PT shop choosing Kate's training gear the day she had joined the gym, "You will need a sports bra." Kate had asked why and Assim had replied. "With breasts your size you can easily injure yourself without one." So she had bought a couple. "34 d," she had rather embarrassedly said to the male 'child' who had served her.

Kate struggled her mind back to getting dressed. She was excited at the prospect of both the assessment, with James, as Assim had advised, and at the stimulation of the vibrant gym. 'It won't seem the same this time' she told herself as she slipped the thong up her legs. 'It will be different, I was just taken by surprise before,' she thought as she wiggled the tiny garment into place.

As part of the 'new' Kate, she had entered the twenty first century as far as underwear was concerned. Sure, she still wore M & S high-waisted, big bottomed panties and large cup, full bras for comfort, but she had bought a whole range of more 'delicate and erotic' gear as the websites referred to it. Lacy panties, little shorts and some thongs, not the very thin ones but the sort that bisected the cheeks of her bottom and vanished between them just a little way up her crease. She had also bought several new bras, lacy ones, some cut acutely across her breasts almost showing some of her nipples and others that were completely see-through. Her initial reason for buying them was to perk up her marriage, to rekindle Paul's waning interest in her. It had done that and from time to time, she still did get into bed in a sexy bra and panty set to surprise and remind him when he joined her, and that worked as well. Kate had, however, found other uses for her range of 'intimate apparel.'

The first had been intentional with Dean, her internet lover. It was an evening when she had dressed in a pale grey, lacy bra and panty set ready to welcome her husband home with a display of her full tits and bum spilling out of the sexy lingerie. That a dinner appointment made him disappoint her, led to Kate logging on, finding Dean was there, telling him what she was wearing and agreeing to watch his cam. He was naked. As she told him what she was wearing, he hardened and as he told her what he would like to do to her if they were together her nipples exploded and her pussy lips began to dampen. As they exchanged messages so he coaxed her into touching herself as he rubbed his awesome, to Kate at least, erection. They masturbated together. 

The second use, unintentional though it was, had been to bring the Stephen issue to a head. By inadvertently, she believed, wearing such a thin, see-through bra under the white coat she had displayed the shadows of her areola to him. When he pointed that out, she had then more clearly introduced him to her nipples. As they both looked at her chest in the mirror, they just simply exploded with lust and the rest, as they say, is history.

Today, though, Kate was not wearing lacy shorts or a half thong. At the visit to the gym, she had carefully looked at the wiggling and wobbling bottoms of the girls using the machines. The shapes and shadows she saw under the tight trousers, crops and shorts were of the tiny thong variety; the sort that had the merest slither of a half inch or so of material plunging between her cheeks from an equally thin elasticised waistband. The sort of thong, that when the waist of the trousers moved a little, showed those slithers of material very clearly. It was that sort of thing that Kate was wearing for the gym.

Looking at her front in the long mirror then turning and looking over her shoulder at her rear, Kate felt as pleased as she could be with what she had. She was about average height, or a little more, but a bit overweight. She had blonde hair, which she helped a bit. Recently, she had taken to wearing it wavy and shoulder length in a 'dragged through the hedge backwards' look, as Paul called it or, as her gay hairdresser put it, 'your just fucked, image. In truth, it was a style that was probably a little too young for her really, but then that was how she felt with her new-found liberation.

Although there was some excess on both her hips and her bum and, as she turned, she could see a crease just above her waist in a roll of what she couldn't possible mention, but which slim sods would call fat, fuck it, she was in proportion all over. Fairly broad shouldered, with an upright posture and a wideish back, she was quite a big girl so she could carry the excess well. And she did have great tits, which helps a woman overcome most other 'problems.

Pleased with her near nude appearance in the mirror, she turned to the rest of her new gym outfit laid out on her bed.

'What first?' She asked herself.

The dark blue, hipster gym pants was the obvious next garment, save the complications of the sports bra for later, she thought, not at all sure how she would get into it.

Sliding them up her, quite good legs she always thought, Kate was surprised at how light they were. Made from a thin material, probably cotton or wool, she could hardly feel she was wearing any at all. That was a nice sensation too. Turning round and then back as she looked in the mirror, she felt a little shudder go through her entire body as she gazed at herself in the gym trousers. 

There were so many new things to look at. The outline of the thong and the small flash of its waistband above that of the trousers, just like the girls at the gym looked. Nice, she thought, giving her bum a little shake. She loved the sight of her rounded cheeks, uninterrupted by ridges or elastic wobbling sensuously inside the thin material stretched tightly across them. Her nakedness above the waist, her full breasts wobbling and shaking, 'like two blancmanges with raspberries on the top, she thought watching and feeling those 'raspberries' start to grow.

'I'd better stop this' she said to herself turning away from the mirror, knowing full well that if she didn't she would not be able to resist masturbation; something that happened more and more frequently nowadays.

The sports bra was big, it was also heavier than what she was now used to wearing. It had crossover, quite wide straps at the back and a wide, probably two inches, band that went round her body. She had to put it on over her head, 'More climbing into it,' she smiled, adding as an afterthought. 'No man would be able to get this off, for they can't usually undo ordinary bras, can they? But then, she didn't really have that much recent experience of men removing her bra, she thought to herself, realising that Stephen hadn't bothered to take hers off in the consulting room. Thinking back to that amazing time, she smiled as a little shudder went through, 'He just pulled my tits out of the bra.

It certainly wasn't a glamorous or particularly erotic sight that greeted her when she returned to looking in the mirror. The cups completely covered each boob and showed nothing through their thicker, than usual for a bra, white material. However, the support they gave was not only reassuring from a 'safety' point of view, but was also mildly stimulating "As though each tit was being held by two hands," Kate thought, momentarily visualising herself with two men, Stephen and Dean, maybe? The firmness and support of the garment had another affect on her breasts as well. By pushing them up and together it created the most wonderful cleavage, 'Maybe I should wear it with a low cut top at a dinner party,' she smiled, running her hands over her boobs inside the bra.

As Kate turned away to get the other clothes so she saw her breasts moving inside the bra. 'Hmmm, not too rigid,' she thought, turning back to face the mirror. She jumped up and down a couple of times. They wobbled nicely, she ran on the spot and began to realise the value and benefits of the bra. Her tits didn't fly all over the place, as they would in a normal bra, hence making it more comfortable, but certainly the tops of each boob wobbled nicely. 'Good buy' she thought.

She had bought several tops. Some singlets or vests, like women athletes wear, some tees, both short and long sleeve, a couple of zip up tops and two sweat shirts. For some reason, she couldn't work out her gaze and then her hands were drawn to one of the vests, a dark blue one. It matched the colour of her hipster trousers. Sleeveless and low cut it was tight and clung to the outline of her boobs almost like a second skin, its hem just reaching the waistband of her trousers. Mostly, though, and perhaps the reason she was attracted to it, itt so very clearly showed the spectacular cleavage created by the sports bra. 

Her reflection in the mirror both pleased and slightly excited her. She felt similar feelings to those she had experienced when wearing that white coat when working for Stephen. That was a heightened state of sexual arousal, an almost permanent tingling in her lower stomach and breasts and a strong sense of her femininity.

As she put on one of the zip ups, she had one last inspection and realised she was also experiencing another emotion. She felt fucking horny.'Just right for my first visit to a gym' she thought picking up her bag and heading out to the car.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 08



Chapter 5

His hand pressed gently, but firmly on her tummy. His other hand was on the back of her head, lifting it. She was lying on her back, he was kneeling, leaning over her body. His face was so close to her breasts, his hand so near to her pussy; both were tantalisingly near, worryingly near and, it suddenly strongly hit her, excitingly near. 

"Bend your legs upwards at your knees, Kate," he said. She did that, the smells of his perspiration and aftershave, his male smells seeped into her nostrils.

"A little further, until your shins are about vertical from the floor," he went on pressing more firmly on her tummy. "That's it, that's great," he said quietly, adding as he lifted her head up, bent her upper body forward so that her lower chest pushed against his hand and looked deep into her eyes. "And open your legs for me."

'Jesus,' she thought. 'His hand is almost touching my pubes and he's asking me to open my legs!' She quickly dismissed the sexual connotations as the ravings of a frustrated near middle-age woman. 'He must do it all the time, it means nothing to him,' she thought, a little part of her wishing that was wrong.

Still he pulled her upper body forward. More and more until her forehead touched her knees, until her back was bent, until her full breasts were squashed against the back of his hand and the tops of her upper thighs. 

"Now put your hands out and grab your ankles."

She did as he told her.

"What can you feel?" He asked.

Kate didn't understand the question, or hoped she was misinterpreting it, for the thing she felt most was surge after surge of sexual arousal. She wanted to say 'Your hand on my breast sending explosions of sex through me,' but didn't.

Chapter 6

"Sorry," the man next to her in the Jacuzzi said after his foot had touched hers under the bubbling, frothing water.

"That's ok," she smiled at him, seeing a forty something man with long, wavy, dark hair and a deep tan.

He laughed. "You mean that?"

"What?"

"That it's ok?"

Kate was confused. They were the only two in the Jacuzzi, which could easily seat ten and had just been occupied by six or seven. As the bubbles had stopped, the rest had got out, leaving her and the tanned man sitting next to each other. The bubbles had started again, before anyone else had joined them.

"Sorry?" She said.

"I said, do you mean that it's ok."

"What is ok?" She asked not sure whether she was going mad or deaf.

His foot touched hers again.

"This," he said.

"Oh I see, sorry."

"What for?"

"What?"

"What are you sorry for?"

"Not understanding what you meant."

"But now you do, don't you?"

"What, understand?" Kate asked, feeling half-stupid and half-intrigued by this bizarre conversation.

"Yes."

"Yes I do now."

"So is it really ok?" He asked pressing more firmly on the top of her foot.

"Well no, I suppose not really."

"But you said it was."

"Er, yes I did, but I wasn't thinking."

"So now it isn't ok?" He asked, not, however, taking his foot away as, he noted, she hadn't either.

"Well not really."

"Why not?"

"Well for a start I don't know you."

"I'm Adam, who are you?"

"I'm Kate."

"Pleased to meet you Kate," Adam said, holding his hand out. They shook hands.

"Is this ok too?"

"What?" 

"Holding your hand?" He asked, quite pointedly still gripping it above the surface of the water.

"Not really."

"But we do know each other now don't we?"

"Yes that's true, but not well enough to hold hands," Kate replied noticing that he had moved slightly closer

"But well enough for this?" He asked running his foot up over her ankle

"No, not really."

"You said it would be ok if you knew me."

"But I don't know you."

He laughed and said. "Hi I'm Adam and you are Kate, see we do know each other."

She couldn't help joining him laughing.

Chapter 7

Running over what had happened during her first visit to the gym, Kate couldn't help smiling. 

The assessment with James had been so intimate. The Jacuzzi with Adam so confusing. The whole visit so different. Her overall reaction was that: she had enjoyed herself; was intrigued by both the men she had met; stimulated by the whole buzz of the place and that she simply adored wearing her gym gear.

She had met James in the reception and, after dumping her stuff in the locker room, had joined him in the main gym. He ran his eyes over the dark blue, hipster gym trousers and a sleeveless singlet. He approvingly noted under them that she wore a tiny thong, which left no lines and made no ridges under the material stretched across her full, rounded bum and a sports bra. Over the singlet she wore a white, zip up top. He loved sports bras.

They introduced themselves and chatted as he walked her round the gym. Kate again felt the enormous energy in the place. She loved the buzz created by the blaring music, the noises of the various machines, the multitude of plasma screens and of course the people. Everywhere she looked there was bare flesh, tight clothing, bouncing breasts, wobbling bums and pumping legs. Some were unattractively overweight, others passably nice and many simply gorgeous. Slim girls, with bums like peaches and figures that were fashionably similar to stick insects, but then they were what gyms were supposed to produce. Other typical chav type girls, slightly overweight round the bum, 'a bit like me' Kate smiled and slim above the waist with enhancements that made their breasts look out of context to their bodies, 'not like me' she also smiled, 'either about enhancements or out of sync with the rest.' The men varied, from senior citizens down to young boys. From skinny wretches to obese creatures and from nondescript males running on machines to 'Greek Gods' pumping weights.

He walked her alongside the pool pointing out the two steam rooms and saunas, the four different Jacuzzis and the brilliantly blue pool.

"Do you swim Kate?" James asked gently holding her elbow as they skirted round a where a cleaner was mopping the pathway.

"I do, yes, but I forgot my swimsuit."

"Oh dear," James said very seriously looking her right in the eye.

"What?" Kate asked.

"Well I'm afraid we don't usually allow nude bathing," he continued, still in a very serious tone. Kate was just about to reply on a serious note, when James laughed and went on, after pointedly looking her up and down. "But I am sure we could make an exception in your case."

Kate was embarrassed, yet also flattered and, she realised, a little excited at the interest of the young man, 'But then it probably wasn't a real interest,' she reminded herself. 'He works with women like me all the time.

"Anyway, Kate" he went on as they walked out of the pool, they have a great range of swimsuits in the shop, maybe you would like to buy one for swimming is part of the assessment."

The assessment took place in a small room off the main gym. There was just Kate, the forty three year old married and bored housewife and James the twenty four year old personal trainer. 

"Ok let's get going," he said. "Would you take the top off please Kate and stand against the measuring frame on the wall?"

Although over the years, along with most well-endowed females, Kate had become used to men staring at her breasts, when she was removing the zip up, James' quite obvious gaze sent a little ripple through.

"Er, right, fine," he said sounding a little flustered. "Press your heels and the back of your head against the frame, that will get your exact height while I take a photo for the records."

Obviously, the posture she had to adopt for the measuring meant her breasts were stretched upwards and pushed outward, making them look larger than their real size for the photo over which James seemed to take ages.

"Ok, now on the scales."

Smiling, Kate said. "Do I really have to?"

"Yep, 'fraid so, we have to know where we start or we won't know where we want to go will we?"

"True," she replied moving towards the scales.

"Just like with the measuring and the photograph really." James said. Kate didn't quite understand what he meant, but felt it safer not to ask.

"I'll just do the height and not the more interesting measurements," he said smiling. "You can tell me those can't you?"

"What my hips and waist?"

"Yes and, of course," he said pausing and again looking her up and down. "Your bust.

Kate was again embarrassed and found it a struggle to look at him, let alone answer. James was sitting on a high stool, one foot on a rung, the other on the floor, his legs open, the tight, shiny, blue material of his tracky trousers stretched across his stomach and crotch. He was only wearing a yellow tee shirt, the club colours being blue and yellow, above the waist and that also was stretched tightly, hinting at a well-developed physique. He was balancing his notebook computer on his knee.

"Ok," Kate at last managed. "My hips are thirty seven."

"Yes I would have guessed that."

"My waist is twenty six and my bust is thirty four."

"Really?" He said, sounding surprised.

"Yes, well that's the bra size I buy," Kate retorted still feeling embarrassed, but a little more confident, that was until his next question.

"And your cup size Kate?" He asked softly averting his gaze by looking down at his PC.

"At the moment it's D," she replied. 

"Ok fine," he murmured, tapping the keys of his laptop, before slowly looking up, smiling broadly, looking right into her eyes and adding. "No not fine Kate, great." 

Chapter 8

In all her forty odd years, Kate had not experienced the sort of physical closeness that she and James developed over the next couple of weeks. In bed, or when alone, perhaps driving or just daydreaming, she likened it to the sort of relationship that athletes must have with their coaches. As James manipulated her body or said things like "We need to get it more supple," or "It needs to be exercised regularly," it was as if her body was a third person and not part of her. She found herself using similar phrasing and calling her body 'it.'

"You see if we do that, then we'll get the weight from here," he might say touching her hips or tummy. 'Purposefully, without thinking, pointedly or flirtingly?' she wondered all the time.

They agreed that they would work together for three sessions a week, but that Kate would do another three, whenever time allowed, by herself. She was a good student and took the programme very seriously, hardly missing any of the planned sessions with James and making sure that she did at least two by herself each week.

Both types of session included, exercises on the various machines, stretching and weights. With the cardiovascular and weight reducing work on the machines, Kate was comfortable on the bike and the windmill, a little less so on the rowing machine and totally uncomfortable on the cross trainer and, particularly, the running machine. Despite the sports bra's restrictive and supportive qualities, it could only do so much when the breasts it was trying to assist were as full and bouncy, as Kate's. Kate was hugely conscious of how her tits jiggled and bounced as she ran and, despite being used to men looking at them, in the confines of the gym, where there was no escape, she felt embarrassed. 

As she tended to go to the gym at roughly the same time, she often saw the same people. Adam, the man she had 'played footsy' with in the jazuzzi and a couple of other men in particular became something of her 'fan club', being particularly avid watchers of her body as she exercised. In normal circumstances, Kate would have found that rather distasteful. The gym, though, to her, was not normal circumstances. Normal standards, normal morals and normal behaviours didn't apply there. So she didn't find their quite obvious stares pervy or sleezy, but instead, rather arousing and exciting. 

As arousing and exciting as she found the other guys watching her, however, that was nothing compared to how she felt when James was putting her through her paces. Whether that was standing beside her as she pounded away on the running machine, swayed and wiggled on the cross trainer or went back and forth on the rowing machine, she was in an almost constant state of mild arousal. She was so aware of his eyes on her bouncing breasts and wiggling bum, on her cleavage and bare arms. It was the same, no, it was worse when they were kneeling or lying on the mat as she stretched and bent her body. If both of those were 'difficult' for her to handle, when she swam in the pool with him watching her every move in the one-piece swimsuit, it was near impossible.

It came like a bolt out of the blue and felt like a punch in the stomach when James said one afternoon.

"I'm leaving."

He explained that he had been promoted to an Area Manager and that he would be taking up the new role in a week's time.

"And on top of that I've sold my car."

"Why?" Kate asked rather stupidly.

"I get a company car with the job."

As they were working together in the gym, Kate realised she felt terrible. 'I won't see him again,' she kept thinking.

That evening, coincidentally, fate or purposefully, they left at the same time. They walked to her car, she stopped by it and he kept walking.

"Goodnight Kate."

Realising he no longer had a car she asked.

"Like a lift?"

They had talked about where each other lived and his place wasn't far out of Kate's way.

"If it's no bother?"

It became a pattern for the next amazing week. Kate was at the gym the next day, Sunday, and each of the following five weekdays before he left. She slightly altered her timing so that she finished at five with James and gave him a lift each evening.

The first evening she pulled up on the main road outside the Edwardian house, which had been divided up into flats. They just said goodnight.

The second evening they were in the middle of conversation when they got to the flat and he suggested they pull round the back into what had been the garden of the house, but now also served as a car park.

"Not that anyone parks here, I think I was the only one with a car," he explained as they stopped on the gravel in the dark. They finished the conversation and then said goodnight.

The third evening Kate, unconsciously she swore, drove straight to the car park. They sat chatting for almost half an hour in the near total darkness.

"I'll miss you," Kate had said after twenty minutes or so.

"Don't worry, Becky will take good care of you," James replied mentioning the female trainer who would look after her in the future.

Without really thinking Kate replied. "I didn't mean like that," and thought as she was saying it 'Oh shit, I shouldn't have said that.'

"How did you mean it then Kate?" James asked.

"Er, nothing, just that I will."

"Yes but how?" He persisted placing, his hand on her wrist which was resting on the gear lever.

"Never mind, look I have to go," she hurriedly replied, pulling her hand away, knowing that she had liked the touch too much. 

The fourth evening Kate again drove straight to the dimly lit car park, they again talked at some length, he again put his hand on hers, but this time she didn't remove it. He squeezed it, she left it there. It felt nice. They stopped talking. She broke the silence.

"I have to go."

"Yes, I know," he replied. "Tomorrow is my last day."

Smiling, Kate replied. "Yes I know," as she saw him leaning his head forward. 

"Good night Kate," James whispered, kissing her on her cheek.

The fifth evening, the Friday, his last at the gym, they went to the car park, but this time they started almost where they had left off the previous evening. She held the gearstick, his hand covered hers, this time, though, James lifted her hand up and turned it over so their palms were touching. Nothing was said. She felt his other hand slide along the back of her seat, just beneath the head rest. He touched her head and stroked her hair.

They were both leaning forward, their faces were close, she could smell his aftershave and feel his breath on her cheek. He was running his fingers round the palm of her hand, caressing her. He was squeezing her hand, he undid the tie in her hair, it tumbled down onto her shoulders.

"Is that Ok?" He asked, "I have wanted to see you with your hair down. I've never seen you like that"

"Yes," she whispered in reply.

Her agreement to letting him take her hair down altered the atmosphere. It was as if that was the tipping point, the first domino to fall, the thin end of the wedge with her resistance. 

Their faces were now almost touching. Kate was avoiding eye contact, she was looking down at where their hands were clasped. She felt pressure on the back of her head where his fingers were intertwined in her blonde hair. He was pulling her face towards his, their mouths were so close. She looked up and their gazes met. They were just inches apart. His lips were slightly open. 

'He's going to kiss me' she realised, her heart pounding, the demands of her body and the restraints of her mind clashing.

She was so torn. It was Stephen all over again, only this time it was with a man young enough to be her son. She couldn't do that, she wasn't like that, not a cradle snatcher, she didn't want a toyboy. But the thought of him holding her, the thought of her naked breasts being squashed against the firm, taught chest that she had seen when they had swam together was so strong, the images in her mind of being held by him so powerful. The thought of the stamina and virility of a young man stimulated Kate. Her mind went back to the times when she had cyberfucked with Dean, who was a similar age to James.

It was like a scene from a movie. In silence, holding hands their faces slowly, inexorably closed the small space between them. Their lips touched and they kissed. Gently, reserved and tentatively at first, but then more firmly, more vigorously and more energetically as the passion ran through both of them. Their arms went round the other, their lips squirmed, their mouths opened and their tongues plunged inside. One of his hands was ruffling her hair as they other ran up and down her back, seemingly focusing on the wide strap of her sports bra. Kate was holding his face in her hands, caressing and stroking him. 

"Oh God Kate, I have wanted to do that from the day we met."

"Mmmmm,' was all she could manage, so torn and confused, yet aroused and excited was she?

They kissed more, revelling in the others mouth and tongue as they both at last gave vent to the pent up desire that had been building ever since they had met.

His hand touched her breast. Her body jerked. 

"Sorry," he murmured, removing his hand

She was disappointed, her jerk had not been a sign of rejection, but a reaction to the surprise and the rush of sensations. 

"That's ok," Kate whispered.

They kissed more, his hand touched her breast again, she didn't jerk this time. He pressed and squeezed her full breast, which was inside the zip up, inside the singlet and inside the sports bra. Despite the coverings, the feelings were very strong. 

She pressed back against his hand and pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth. He squeezed more firmly. They kissed more fervently and more vigorously. His fingers fumbled at her zip, the top came undone, his hand returned to her breast, which this time was not as fully covered. The feelings were stronger.

Kate knew she should stop. She knew she should stop James. She knew they should stop before they went too far. But what was too far? Where was far enough, what were the boundaries? Her mind was very aware that already they had been crossed; a forty something year old women should not be kissing a twenty something year old young men in a car. An older woman should not be letting a younger man fondle her breasts; her mind made that clear. Her body, though, was in total conflict with that. That was saying there were no known boundaries, they had not crossed the line, they had only started and they should go further. 




The Power of Clothing Pt. 08



The battle between them was raging as she felt his hand gently tugging on her vest at the back. He pulled the bottom of it out from her hipster trousers. That wasn't difficult, for there was not much of it tucked in, so it came out easily. Her body was winning. His hand was on the bare skin of her lower back, it was moving upwards, along her spine, towards her bra strap. Up and up her spine, further and further inside her singlet, nearer and nearer to that strap. That seemed to be like a magnet to his hand and a beacon to her body's demands. It reached the strap, his fingers slipped under it. He ran them from one side, round her back to the other. From where it joined one cup to where it joined the other. It seemed so meaningful, so pointed and it felt so enquiring and suggestive. In her mind, Kate was saying yes, go further, do more, touch me more intimately. Well at first she was saying words like that, but as their kiss intensified and as his fingers became more adventurous inside her bra strap, her mind was saying 'Touch my tits, pinch my nipples.' She didn't verbalise that to James, though. Her mind, her 'better self,' her alter ego was still in the game, still trying to persuade her to stop, reminding her that she was a married woman, a mother of two, with a son a similar age to the man whose mouth was clamped to hers, whose hand was on her bra strap and to who Kate's other side was saying, 'Touch my tits.

"No, no James," she groaned, straightening up, thus moving her lips and body away from him, as her mind took control.

"Oh Kate, Kate," he whispered, grabbing her face in his hands, pulling it back and kissing her again, deeply and long. 

Her resistance melted. It simply disappeared. Her mind had lost, her body had won. Her mind offered a total surrender as his hand slipped up her singlet, this time at the front, this time right onto the full, roundness of her breasts, this time onto the material of the sports bra and the bare flesh spilling out of the top of it.

She held both sides of his face, quite tight, her nails maybe digging into the top of his neck. She squirmed her widely parted lips firmly against his, met his tongue with hers and, as a sign of her mind's capitulation and her body's total victory, she pressed her breast against his hand.

James sensed that Kate had changed her mind, as many girls and most older women do, he smiled, recognising the familiar signs. He knew that he now had to be bold, to take her along quickly if he was going to get the ultimate prize from Kate.

James adored older women. He not only adored them, but specialised in seducing them. And when he did seduce them, at the time, he really did love them. It was just that after he had fucked them several times, the love wore off and it was just sex and he could get that anywhere, so he moved on. The time between the seduction and the moving on varied. It could be as short as the day after, it had been as long as a year. A significant influence on the length of time was the woman's attitude. The more they came on about loving him, the shorter time he stayed around. 

James also had a really big thing for sports bras. Sure, he also loved frilly, lacy, silky stuff. Sure he liked low-cut bras, see-through cups, tiny thongs and brief panties, but to him a full, supportive sports bra was the sexiest garment a woman could wear. He had no idea why he had this particular penchant and didn't really care much; he just thanked his lucky stars that he was in such a job.

'Sure let's have affection in the relationship, even love when in bed, but asking about plans for the future and the bleating of some who insisted on asking "You do really love me don't you," simply hastened the end. He knew that some needed that to overcome the guilt of cheating, but he wasn't a fucking counsellor was he, just a randy young personal trainer? And wasn't seducing older women clients almost part of the job description. 'Come on babe,' he and his mates had often had to say to the tearful, almost pitiful, forty something year old's with mascara running down their cheeks as the PTs told them it was over, 'Get real.'

As his hand closed round Kate's gorgeous breast inside the sports bra, he hoped she would last the course better than most. As he slipped his fingers inside the cup and experienced that fantastic sensation of touching a new lover's tit flesh and nipple for the first time, he really hoped, but doubted, she would know the game.

Kate groaned with sublime pleasure and quivering excitement as she felt the young man's fingers inside her bra. It was always a wonderful feeling, she was thinking , when a new lover touches your bare breast flesh for the first time. Hey hold on, he's only the second man to do this, other than my husband in so many years, I must have read too many books, she smiled, leaning forward a little and taking a deep breath as he pulled each breast out from the restrictive confines of the firm bra. Almost giggling she though 'Here we go again,' as she recalled Stephen doing the same thing just a few months ago, 'Must be habit forming.'

He rolled the singlet up and looked at her breasts. Even in the dim light and squashed from underneath by the tops of the cups, they looked fabulous. He stroked each one in turn, letting out a few sighs and some low moans as she whispered.

"Oh Kate they are fabulous, perfect, so beautiful."

"Oh James, are they? Are they really?" Kate moaned back, badly needing such reassurance. 

"They are truly beautiful," he whispered, then using a verbal trick he had heard in a film. "Thank you so much for letting me see them," adding as he looked deeply in her eyes and gently pinched her nipples. "Thank you Kate for sharing your breasts with me."

The words tore through her. They destroyed any slight reservations she may have been harbouring, she was his, he had won and at that moment, Kate knew she would commit adultery for the first time in her life, with this man who was young enough to be her son.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 09



In part seven, we heard about how the lack of clothing, Marcia's panties, promoted and encouraged her sexual behaviour. Here, we take that further and see how it has affected her and the men around her.

Chapter 1

Marcia's penchant for going without knickers started the third or fourth time she and Kevin fucked. That was nearly ten years ago, she was thinking at his daughter Sammi's recent twenty-first birthday party. There, somewhat to their disappointments, they couldn't get together. Instead, she had fucked Gareth, a city trader, who she had been having sex with for broadly the same time. Kevin was now fifty- three, Marcia forty-three and Gareth thirty- two. Marcia enjoyed fucking both the older and younger man and was particularly intrigued by the fact that Gareth was Kevin's son by his first wife. 

Kevin is married to Amanda, one of Marcia's best friends. Gareth is one of those phenomenally successful city traders, unfathomably earning several hundred thousand pounds a year. He has no discernable skill, little knowledge and didn't' do well enough at school to get a place at uni. Odd world he and people who knew him often thought. 

Marcia is the daughter of near aristocracy, which she terms 'fucking old landed gentry.' Old, boring and stuffy her family may be, but they were also stinking rich and that she liked. She was married to the gorgeous Stephen Masters, one of the most eminent consultant psychologists in Europe. His consultancy work, book writing and lecturing activities added another couple of million a year to the two or three she got in dividends from the family companies and from her investments. 

Stephen is in his early fifties and has longish, blonde hair, turning grey. He's tall, slim and fit is excellent in bed and apart from with hookers and escort girls, who don't count, he has always been faithful to Marcia. That cannot be said for Marcia. She has been unfaithful since they met, but then Marcia's ideas of faithfulness, differ to most 'normal' and for normal read poor, people. She considers herself to be emotionally, but not physically faithful. In the rarefied atmosphere and thinking of the mega rich, that is all that matters, loosely interpreted it means 'I'm rich so I can do what I fucking well like and if you don't like it, up your's;' nice people generally, the stinking rich.

Chapter 2.

"You know I have wanted to fuck you since the moment we met," Kevin said at his and Amanda's housewarming party.

Marcia smiled. "Yes of course, I have," she replied walking down the path towards the pool, feeling his arm go round her waist and his hand rest on her bum.

They stopped and kissed. 

They were far enough away from the house for it to be difficult if not impossible for anyone to see them. Not so far, though, that they couldn't hear the music, the buzz of conversation and the occasional laughter or raised voice.

He cupped one of her small, almost non-existent breasts, which surprisingly really aroused him. 

The surprise, on the face of it, coming from the fact that his wife, one of Marcia's best friends, had big tits. Now that is, but not when Kevin first seduced her when she was just twenty working in an ad agency, which represented his company. Amanda had broken the cardinal ad industry rule, 'never fuck the client' or, more to the point with young, female copywriters, 'never let the client fuck you.' She not only let the client fuck her, and over a desk in the agency after a late meeting, but she also married him. 

After Sammi was born, her neat little b cup boobies and thirty five inch hips both swelled and for the past few years she had sported a pair of devastating d cups and an ample thirty seven inches of hips and arse. 

Kevin found that all a bit distasteful. He had never been faithful to Amanda, but as her 'tits and ass' grew he, almost in perfect correlation to her expansion, had a succession of affairs, long, short, mid-term and one nighters. His 'floosies,' as Amanda called them when she occasionally found out or had suspicions, had two main things in common, apart from easily openable legs and knickers that were surprisingly easy to get into: they were all young, under twenty five, and had stick insect-like figures with 'pimples for tits.'

They strolled round the corner of the pool changing room, out of sight of the party. He pushed her back against the wall and they kissed longer and deeper.

"Fuck I haven't got the key," he said patting his pockets.

"What's wrong with alfresco?" She asked grabbing his erection through his thin linen trousers.

"Not a thing, you horny bitch," he replied, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.

He pulled one of the straps of the ankle-length dress down her arm and pushed and stroked, squeezed and pinched her tits, before leaning forward and sucking the long, dark nipples into his mouth. She undid his shirt then his zip. She bit his nipple, quite hard.

"Hey steady, that hurt." Marcia laughed.

"Just be careful I don't leave scratch marks right down your back, you bastard, cheating on my best friend."

They both laughed.

He pulled her long skirt up; she wasn't wearing tights, just panties. He slid his hand between her thighs and lifted his thumb so that it pressed right into the gusset of the panties covering her pussy lips.

"Mmmm," she murmured. Kevin wasn't sure whether that was due to what he was doing or, because she had taken hold of his bare, hard cock. Maybe a bit of both he thought.

He pressed his erection against her and wiggled his hand into the elastic of the waistband of her panties. He started to pull them down. As her pubes and pussy were exposed to the air, Marcia felt an even more urgent surge of arousal than what she was getting from holding his throbbing cock. She grabbed his hand when her knickers were half-way down her thighs.

"That's far enough," she said sharply, used to always being in control in her relationships. 

"What don't like the open air?" He replied pushing her knickers down past her knees.

"Just shut up and fuck me smartarse," Marcia said helping Kevin push his trousers and pants down a little.

Kevin smiled, but did nothing further other than push his finger right against her clit, then ease two up inside her.

"Nice?" He asked hearing her grunt and feeling her body jerk.

"Yes," she grunted, grabbing his cock again.

She guided it towards her eager pussy. They kissed as it brushed against her lips and then she grunted and he groaned as he thrust his hips forward surging his cock deep inside her. Marcia lifted one leg up and wrapped the calf and ankle round the back of Kevin's legs. They were now kissing furiously as their arousal and passion grew. He was pounding into her, she was squirming herself back against him. His hands were all over her breasts, the top of her dress now being completely open: her's were running up and down his back, slightly scratching it, worrying Kevin that she might carry out her earlier threat. 

"Oh fuck yes," she grunted. "Harder, fuck me harder," she moaned grabbing his arse and digging her fingernails into the pliant flesh.

"You horny cow," he replied, surging himself as far into her as he could go and then holding himself rigid in there as she writhed against his hardness, in effect fucking herself.

"I'm near," he grunted.

"Good," she responded.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Several more deep, slow thrusts from him, a few more writhing, squirming movements from Marcia, and they were both cumming. Each holding onto the cheeks of the other's bum and squeezing those delicious mounds they relished in their mutual climax.

"Phew," Marcia muttered falling against Kevin.

"Nice?" He asked.

"Mmm, bloody lovely."

"Come on we had better get back."

"Oh fuck look at my panties?" Marcia said. They both looked down and saw that they had slipped off from her foot and she or he had trod on them, they were covered in dirt.

"Easy," Kevin said, picking them up and shoving them in his pocket.

Chapter 3

They had sex again a couple of weeks later. This time it was at Stephen and Marcia's house in Hampstead. 

They got to know each other better, both socially and sexually. Kevin knew they were well off, but hadn't appreciated quite the level of Marcia's family wealth, which she explained in a matter-of-fact manner, not sounding at all boastful. From the house warming party, he knew that sexually she was a goer and up for some of the more outrageous aspects of sex, including being fucked up against a wall just outside a party at which she was guest and he the host. The warm afternoon in Hampstead confirmed that and they had four hours of uninhibited sex that promised well for the future.

The two couples had met at a dinner party given by, Jonas Bright a supplier to Kevin's business. It was quite a grand affair with ten or so couples at his huge apartment overlooking Regents Park. They had hit it off well and discovered that they were going to be in Hong Kong at the same time a few weeks later. They had met up for dinner a couple of times out there and had then seen each other again in Jonas' box at Royal Ascot. Things just progressed from there and a year later, when Kevin and Amanda moved to large house in Essex, just outside London to the east, they had naturally been invited and, almost as naturally, Kevin and Marcia had fucked.

Stephen was suspicious of Marcia and Kevin, but then, quite rightly he was suspicious of her with most men. He knew she played around, but had no idea of the scope, variety and nature of her 'infidelities.' He put up with it firstly, because as a psychologist he studied and understood human behaviours. 'That's just how she is,' he rationalised and secondly he loved her. Simple, straightforward and unarguable reasons.

Marcia was naked. She was laying on a huge bed in a Mayfair hotel, on her front, her slender, shapely legs wide open. Her, long, straightened brown hair with highlights was tumbling over her bare back onto the bed. Kevin had just made her cum by lying between her legs and sucking, licking and kissing her arse. 

At their session in her house in Hampstead, Kevin had discovered that she was very sensitive there and that she liked anal foreplay; he hadn't yet, but fully intended to soon, found out, though, whether she liked being fucked up her arse. Along with most parts of a woman's body, he was an arse man. He adores plating womens' bums and having them do the same, and more if they would, to his.

Marcia knew that it wouldn't be long, maybe even today, before Kevin would want to have her arse. She didn't mind that, although always felt it wasn't all that it was often cracked up to be, for the woman that is. The incongruity of anal sex was that she found the foreplay hugely sensual and massively arousing. She loved being made to cum through the use of fingers, tongues and lips on her bum hole, just as Kevin was doing now.

"You really are a dirty bitch, aren't you?" He grunted between pushing the tip of his tongue right against that delightfully puckered entrance and sucking at Marcia's arse.

"You're the one with their mouth up an arse, so what's that make you?" She replied.

He gave her a thwack on her arse, storing the fact that her response sounded like a purr of pleasure.

He renewed his efforts, sucking and licking and combining the use of his fingers with that of his mouth. 

Marcia was writhing with pleasure. She slid a hand down her body and found her clit. 'What could be better' she thought to herself, a tongue on your arse and a finger up it, as you play with your own clit?' Not much, she concluded, because she was starting to cum. 

She didn't often allow a man, particularly a relatively new one in her life, such control. Normally, she ran the show, but with Kevin she was realising she had met her sexual equal. 'Well for a man that is,' she smiled to herself as those wonderful feelings roared through her body. Even as her body shuddered and she writhed and made deep, animal sounding from her throat, he kept fucking her arse with his finger and licking and sucking everywhere down there. 

She finished, well the noisy bit, that is, the tingling and little tremors kept on for some time. Half of her wished that he would hold her, cuddle her and whisper tender messages in her ear. But she knew he wouldn't for that was not what their affair was all about.

She lay still for a while, regaining her composure. She felt him moving around on the bed. He took both of her wrists in his hands and pulled them, gently above her head. Then, she felt something being wrapped round them. It didn't register at first what he was doing, but then suddenly, as she felt whatever it was that was wrapped round her wrists being pulled tight, she caught on. 'He's tying me up the bastard,' she realised, opening her eyes and trying to turn onto her back. She couldn't as he stopped with his hands.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Marcia asking answering the question herself really as she watched her wrists being tied to the headboard.

"Simple Marcia, tying you up."

"Why, I don't like that."

"You will," he replied.

It didn't feel as if her wrists had been tied too tightly and she struggled looking at where they were tied to the bed. 'The bastard has only used my fucking knickers to tie me up,' she recognised, pulling and twisting her body and wrists.

"You bastard," she growled, feeling annoyed at the smug look on his face.

"Now, now," Kevin replied enjoying and starting to get aroused at seeing her slim body writhing and squirming on the bed. "Oh fuck," he said seeing one of her hands come free. He grabbed it and tried tying her panties around it again, but couldn't manage it. 

"See you cocky sod, you can't do what I don't want you to do," Marcia said harshly as she struggled with him over her panties. "Now look what you have done, you fucking lunatic," she said after she had removed them from her wrists and the headboard of the bed. She held the pale blue, lacy panties up for him to see. They were not a thong as she usually wore, but had a full bottom and a small front cut acutely up from the gusset. They were made from silk and lace and had tiny strips joining the front and back. One of those and the gusset had been torn making them completely unwearable.

"They're fucking AP as well, sixty bloody quid a pair," she ranted.

"Well you'll just have to go commando won't you, you're probably used to it."

Sitting on the Northern Line of the tube Marcia felt odd. Although it was quite chilly, she wasn't wearing tights for she still had a good tan on her shapely legs from the two weeks she had recently spent in Antigua. 

She was wearing leather, mini skirt, which were highly fashionable at the time. With her legs crossed the skirt obviously rode up her legs, almost to her crotch. Normally that and the stares from the male travellers would not have bothered her at all. Today, though, both did bother her. Well more than bother for she felt a strange sort of arousal. 'If only they knew I wasn't wearing panties,' she smiled to herself, recrossing her legs, but making sure not to do a complete Sharon Stone! 

Marcia felt a tingle throughout her body all the way home. As she walked up the escalator at Hampstead station, she imagined that people behind her would be able to look up her skirt and see that she was naked under it. Of course they didn't and couldn't do that. Just as no one on the train who stared at her legs or walked behind her would know of her clothing omission. 

That was not the point, though, well not in her mind. The point was how not wearing knickers made her feel. And not to put too fine a point on that, it made her feel fucking horny.

Chapter 3.

"It's every young bloke's wet dream material' isn't it?" Gareth was telling his mates the Sunday after Amanda and Kevin's housewarming party. "She's got no tits to speak of, but what an arse?" He went on. "At the ball, I had my arms round her during this smoochy number and she was pressed bloody tightly against me. You can guess what happened?"

The three other traders he was talking to in the flat he shared with one of them made the inevitable raucous remarks. They had all been on the Stolli and each of them had had several lines, so they were relaxed, uninhibited and very open with each other. 

Gareth was in his early twenties and was beginning to make it as trader in the city. Especially with the coke, nothing seemed to be impossible, 

"Yes, right I got a hard on. I felt embarrassed."

"Yeah like fuck you did, I bet," one of them remarked.

"What doubting he got hard on, or that he was embarrassed?" another one asked, laughing.

"I thought she would at least, move away a little."

"So what did she do?"

"Her mouth was about level with my ear and I heard her go mmmmm, as she pressed herself harder against me."

"You lucky fucker."

"I was still a bit out of my stride for remember, she's mid thirties, married and as rich as God. Very upscale and really out of my league, I thought."

"Oh is this the humility side of Gal coming out? Out of his league, my arse."

"I mumbled sorry and she whispered, don't be. I said, stupidly you don't mind? She didn't say anything, but looking me right in the eyes, she simply pressed her mound right against my cock.

"And then?"

"Well I'd got me confidence then 'adn't I? It was quite dark and we were in a bit of a corner so I let my hands run down her back. She was wearing a long, sheath dress, tight as a second skin. She looked fucking fabulous. I felt her arse. At first it didn't register, but then suddenly I thought there was nothing under the dress. When it registered that she was probably stark bollock naked under it, my hard on nearly hit her chin."

"So what did you do?"

"I said, "seems as though you forgot something Marcia" as I ran my hand from her shoulders, all the way down her spine to the little wiggly bit at the end."

"What makes you think I forgot? She replied, so I said; left them off on purpose then, have you?"

"You cheeky bastard," one of his mates remarked.

"That's a coincidence," Gareth said taking a swig of vodka with a touch of water.

"Why?"

"That's exactly what Marcia said."

Chapter 4

After that arousing trip home on the Northern Line after Kevin had ruined her panties, Marcia thought she would ditch him. 'He's fucking crazy' she told herself as she was getting ready to play golf with Amanda and her next-door neighbour Toni at Marcia's golf club in Highgate.

"Hi Marcia," Amanda said down the phone. "I'm afraid Toni can't make it, still want to play?"

Amanda had this innocence about her. She was still completely besotted with Kevin and had this tendency to use phrases with unintentional double meanings. Marcia smiled at that.

"Just the two of us, of course I do," she replied.

Marcia had fucked the partners of several friends, so she didn't feel embarrassed with, or sorry for, Amanda. To her, sex was pretty much a commodity and if Kevin wanted her and she wanted him, what was the harm? Amanda, of course, had no idea, that her 'friend' and her husband had shagged each other at the housewarming or that they had started an affair.

It was unseasonably warm for late October. Bright and sunny and in the low sixties, Marcia decided to wear a short, sleeveless golf shirt, which just tucked into her cropped trousers. Both were quite tight. 

She had no idea what prompted her not to wear underwear, but when she saw the reflection of her bum in the mirror, she felt excited. The thin cotton material was drawn tightly and beautifully smoothly over the pert, symmetrical, taught cheeks of her bum. It fitted snugly round her rather prominent pubic mound and rubbed excitedly against her lips and the hood covering her clit. She put her finger right there. Bang, she felt an internal explosion of want. 'Mmmmm,' she thought 'I can almost cum on demand.' 




The Power of Clothing Pt. 09



Amanda was a little in awe of the somewhat 'larger than life' Marcia. Although she came from a comfortable background, she had been brought up to be conservative and considered in how she behaved. She was slightly introvert and hated being the centre of attention or losing control over herself. 

Until recently, she was convinced that she and Kevin were for life and that there was no other man for her. She had, since they had first started together when she was a young copywriter and he was her client, believed that they were made for each other. The birth of their daughter Sammi had made her commitment stronger and her belief more convincing. Both of those, however, had been knocked badly over the past two years when she had found out that he had been unfaithful to her. Now, she was seeing the signs again of his unfaithfulness and she was pretty sure he was 'at it' again.

Amanda and Marcia had become fairly close in the way that opposites attract, probably. Amanda found her easy to talk to and appreciated her no nonsense and decisive views on issues, which was so different to her approach. She found Marcia to be a little outrageous, liked her don't give a damn attitude and the manner in which, whatever the company and circumstances, she was always in control.

They hadn't taken the round of golf very seriously for it was warm and they talked too much. Marcia had also been a little distracted by the tightness of Amanda's golf top, which showed her spectacular breasts off marvellously. Amanda was not aware that Marcia often dabbled with ladies and that it was large breasts which we her particular attraction. Marcia was equally unaware that Amanda had also had some experience of her own gender, but that was a long time ago in her teens. Despite that, Amanda still had little rushes of arousal when she saw a particularly attractive woman, a flash of too much breast or leg or when a female came onto her, by touch or by holding her gaze just that tad too long. 

Standing behind Marcia as she played her shots from the classic golf pose of, nearly straight legs, a slight bend at the waist and the bum pushed out Amanda, couldn't help her gaze being drawn to her friend's beautifully shaped and perfectly proportioned bottom. Each time she looked, she felt little rushes of a warm tingling feeling, but, for the first few holes, all of which she won, other than the lovely shape, Amanda couldn't work out why Marcia's bum was affecting her so much. Standing behind her on the fourth green as Marcia putted, it suddenly hit Amanda like a blow to the stomach. 'She's not wearing knickers. There's no VPL or ridges or anything.' She didn't win many more holes.

Chapter 5

Marcia met Kevin for dinner at the Connaught, his favourite London restaurant. It was a little risky, for both of them knew many people that might eat there, but then as Kevin had said down the phone. "What the fuck, let's live dangerously."

She hadn't quite forgiven him for what had happened last time they had met. On reflection, it wasn't ruining her AP panties, that didn't really matter; it was the way that he had taken control of her. 'Tying me up for fuck's sake, how dare he, without my permission?' She had thought when she was determined not to see him again. That hadn't lasted long. She wasn't having that much success with new conquests and Kevin was a real goer, very much like her, seemingly up for anything with an adventurous attitude and approach. 'How many men would fuck a guest at his and his wife's housewarming party?' She had asked herself several times adding. 'And just outside the party, up against a wall where they could so easily have been caught.' Smiling at the rhetorical question, she had answered it the same way several times. 'Not many.'

The food was excellent and the service brilliant, but the whole place was stuffy and extraordinarily pompous. They were getting on well and had started playing footsie under the table, which was covered in a long, almost down to the floor, crisp, white tablecloth. 'Designed for rubbing your partner's leg' she thought, slipping her Jimmy Choo shoe off and running her stockinged toe inside Kevin's trouser and up his bare leg.

"So you survived the tube journey with no knickers did you?" He asked, just loud enough for the people at the next table to hear, if they were listening. 

"Yes, no thanks to you, you crazy bastard," she replied at about the same decibel level.

Smiling as he swallowed a piece of lobster and sipped his Mersault, Kevin placed his hand on the back of hers and said, in if anything a slightly louder voice.

"Darling you say the most romantic things."

Also smiling and gripping his hand she replied. "Don't you fucking darling me."

They finished their main courses and Marcia announced. "I'm going to the lavatory."

"You will be coming," Kevin said pausing meaningfully on coming and making it sound like cumming, as he smiled, glanced at the older people on the next table, and added. "Back won't you, my sweet."

"Fuck off," she snarled, actually quite pleased with the mischief.

Kevin followed her progress across the elegant, wood panelled and slightly old-fashioned dining room. Her slim form with her gorgeous arse cut a fine picture, not just for him, but also for several other watchers, he noted feeling proud she was with him. 

Marcia was wearing a knee-length, deep purple or mauve, clingy dress. It had buttons all the way up the front. Kevin had noted when they had met in the bar earlier that there was three buttons open at the top, showing a nice expanse of her tanned chest and a small part of her tiny breasts. He could see she wasn't wearing a bra. Sitting on the bar stool, the heel of one of the strappy, ludicrously expensive shoes from the new rave designer Jimmy Choo, hooked on the stool-rail, the other on the floor, Marcia was showing quite a lot of black, fishnet covered leg. It looked good and made Kevin feel even more horny than he had been all day in anticipation of the evening with her.

He had ordered her a Pernod and himself a Scotch and had run his eyes up and down her slim, almost boy-like figure; he liked women like that and not as his wife Amanda had become, voluptuous. 

He liked the way that she was so assured and confident as if places such as The Connaught, one of the most established and expensive hotels in London, were her natural habitat. On second thoughts, Kevin realised, they probably were! Perched on the bar stool, her slim back ramrod straight, her legs crossed she was smoking a smelly Gauloise. The skirt of her dress had fallen aside from the two open buttons.

Kevin was again able to watch her progress across the room. 'Fuck, look at the leg she's showing' he thought feeling that he had seen the start of a stocking top. He had certainly seen something else, though.

"Feel better now darling," he asked standing up and holding her chair as she returned to even more stares from the largely businessmen diners.

"Much, thank you sweety," Marcia replied sitting down.

"The buttons just come undone on their own did they?"

She smiled, pleased that he had noticed. "No, why would they? I just like flashing me bits now and then."

"Well you certainly did that," Kevin replied as the waiter approached them for their dessert orders.

She waited a while as they chatted away. Just as the elderly, French waiter was approaching the table, she leaned forward, making the top of her dress gape more, and said quite loudly again. "I have a present for you, darling."

"Oh that's nice, what is it?" He replied, genuinely pleased and hugely curious.

Reaching her hand out so it was over his menu, which was lying on the table, Marcia paused there for a moment and then opened her fingers.

Just as the waiter arrived, the three of them stared at what she had dropped. Smiling and not at all concerned, Marcia said. "There you are darling, my present, what you ripped last time you fucked me."

Considering everything, all three of them handled the situation well. Marcia smiled and took a swig of wine, Kevin slowly picked up the delicate, white lace thong and the waiter said, very drily.

"Will madam or sir be requiring anything further."

Chapter 6.

"You stupid, fucking, dirty bitch," he said laughing as he parked the Aston Martin in a pull off from the road round the back of Highgate Cemetery, quite near to the area where Karl Marx is buried.

"You say the most charming things," she replied, her hand inside his trousers, which she had opened driving along Holloway Road.

He leaned across the central console and kissed her. She immediately opened her mouth and pushed her tongue against his. He slid his hand in the top of her dress, cupped her breast and pinched her already inflated nipple. She pushed the top of his trousers aside and pulled his shirt tail out, thus making room to slip her hand inside his boxers and find his cock. It felt good.

"Mmmmm nice," he said putting his hand on her knee. The fishnet felt very sensual indeed, especially when he started sliding his hand upwards, especially when he reached the stocking tops, especially when he felt that patch of skin above them and extra especially when Marcia slowly parted her legs.

It was tight, but there was just about enough room. It was awkward, a little cramped and hard to move, but they could just make it. He was sitting in the passenger seat with Marcia on his lap facing him. She was able to slide one leg between the seat and the door, and the other up and over the central console and between the two seats. Her dress was undone to the waist, but beneath that it covered both of them.

"So any nosy fucker that looks in won't see a thing will they?" Kevin had said as they manipulated themselves into the positions.

"Only my tits," Marcia said, excited by the prospect of having sex in a car; it had been a long time since she had been shagged like that.

"Don't worry, they wouldn't notice," Kevin joked truthfully, but rather hurtfully.

"Lift up a bit," he said placing his hand on her hips.

She raised herself as he reached down and held his erection away from his body. "Now come down," Kevin said, adding "Fuck it," when he found the angle was wrong. He shuffled further forward in the seat, still holding his cock and pressing it enquiringly against her lips. They both laughed as again they couldn't get it in.

"It reminds me now, why I gave up fucking in the front of a car," Kevin said.

Her head was pressed against the low roof of the sports car, it hurt and was uncomfortable.

"Let me down a bit, this is awful." Marcia moaned.

"Shit I think I'm getting cramp." Kevin told her.

"Oh fuck it," Marcia said opening the door. She wiggled her way out. "Come on."

He followed. 

"It was good enough the first time, it'll be good enough now," she said, leaning back against the car and undoing the rest of the buttons on her dress. There was, of course, no bra, but what gave Kevin the biggest kick was that there were no panties either, she was naked apart from the self-support stockings. 

"So you horny bitch," he said ramming his cock into her eagerly waiting hole. "You did take them off in The Connaught?"

"No" she grunted the sensation from his sudden thrust deep inside her taking her breath away. "I wasn't wearing them all the time. I haven't worn panties since the day you ripped them, remember that?"



The Power of Clothing Pt. 10



In part seven, we heard about how the lack of clothing, Marcia's panties, promotes and encourages sexual behaviour. Here we take that further and see how it has affected her and the men around her.

Chapter 1

Marcia's penchant for going without knickers started the third or fourth time she and Kevin fucked. That was nearly ten years ago, she was thinking at his daughter Sammi's recent twenty-first birthday party. There, somewhat to their disappointments, they couldn't get together. Instead, she had fucked Gareth, a city trader, who she had been having sex with for broadly the same time. Kevin was now fifty- three, Marcia forty-three and Gareth thirty- two. Marcia enjoyed fucking both the older and younger man and was particularly intrigued by the fact that Gareth was Kevin's son by his first wife. 

Kevin is married to Amanda, one of Marcia's best friends. Gareth is one of those phenomenally successful city traders, unfathomably earning several hundred thousand pounds a year. He has no discernable skill, little knowledge and didn't' do well enough at school to get a place at uni. Odd world he and people who knew him often thought. 

Marcia is the daughter of near aristocracy, which she terms 'fucking old landed gentry.' Old, boring and stuffy her family may be, but they were also stinking rich and that she liked. She was married to the gorgeous Stephen Masters, one of the most eminent consultant psychologists in Europe. His consultancy work, book writing and lecturing activities added another couple of million a year to the two or three she got in dividends from the family companies and from her investments. 

Stephen is in his early fifties and has longish, blonde hair, turning grey. He's tall, slim and fit is excellent in bed and apart from with hookers and escort girls, who don't count, he has always been faithful to Marcia. That cannot be said for Marcia. She has been unfaithful since they met, but then Marcia's ideas of faithfulness, differ to most 'normal' and for normal read poor, people. She considers herself to be emotionally, but not physically faithful. In the rarefied atmosphere and thinking of the mega rich, that is all that matters, loosely interpreted it means 'I'm rich so I can do what I fucking well like and if you don't like it, up your's;' nice people generally, the stinking rich.

Chapter 2.

"You know I have wanted to fuck you since the moment we met," Kevin said at his and Amanda's housewarming party.

Marcia smiled. "Yes of course, I have," she replied walking down the path towards the pool, feeling his arm go round her waist and his hand rest on her bum.

They stopped and kissed. 

They were far enough away from the house for it to be difficult if not impossible for anyone to see them. Not so far, though, that they couldn't hear the music, the buzz of conversation and the occasional laughter or raised voice.

He cupped one of her small, almost non-existent breasts, which surprisingly really aroused him. 

The surprise, on the face of it, coming from the fact that his wife, one of Marcia's best friends, had big tits. Now that is, but not when Kevin first seduced her when she was just twenty working in an ad agency, which represented his company. Amanda had broken the cardinal ad industry rule, 'never fuck the client' or, more to the point with young, female copywriters, 'never let the client fuck you.' She not only let the client fuck her, and over a desk in the agency after a late meeting, but she also married him. 

After Sammi was born, her neat little b cup boobies and thirty five inch hips both swelled and for the past few years she had sported a pair of devastating d cups and an ample thirty seven inches of hips and arse. 

Kevin found that all a bit distasteful. He had never been faithful to Amanda, but as her 'tits and ass' grew he, almost in perfect correlation to her expansion, had a succession of affairs, long, short, mid-term and one nighters. His 'floosies,' as Amanda called them when she occasionally found out or had suspicions, had two main things in common, apart from easily openable legs and knickers that were surprisingly easy to get into: they were all young, under twenty five, and had stick insect-like figures with 'pimples for tits.'

They strolled round the corner of the pool changing room, out of sight of the party. He pushed her back against the wall and they kissed longer and deeper.

"Fuck I haven't got the key," he said patting his pockets.

"What's wrong with alfresco?" She asked grabbing his erection through his thin linen trousers.

"Not a thing, you horny bitch," he replied, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.

He pulled one of the straps of the ankle-length dress down her arm and pushed and stroked, squeezed and pinched her tits, before leaning forward and sucking the long, dark nipples into his mouth. She undid his shirt then his zip. She bit his nipple, quite hard.

"Hey steady, that hurt." Marcia laughed.

"Just be careful I don't leave scratch marks right down your back, you bastard, cheating on my best friend."

They both laughed.

He pulled her long skirt up; she wasn't wearing tights, just panties. He slid his hand between her thighs and lifted his thumb so that it pressed right into the gusset of the panties covering her pussy lips.

"Mmmm," she murmured. Kevin wasn't sure whether that was due to what he was doing or, because she had taken hold of his bare, hard cock. Maybe a bit of both he thought.

He pressed his erection against her and wiggled his hand into the elastic of the waistband of her panties. He started to pull them down. As her pubes and pussy were exposed to the air, Marcia felt an even more urgent surge of arousal than what she was getting from holding his throbbing cock. She grabbed his hand when her knickers were half-way down her thighs.

"That's far enough," she said sharply, used to always being in control in her relationships. 

"What don't like the open air?" He replied pushing her knickers down past her knees.

"Just shut up and fuck me smartarse," Marcia said helping Kevin push his trousers and pants down a little.

Kevin smiled, but did nothing further other than push his finger right against her clit, then ease two up inside her.

"Nice?" He asked hearing her grunt and feeling her body jerk.

"Yes," she grunted, grabbing his cock again.

She guided it towards her eager pussy. They kissed as it brushed against her lips and then she grunted and he groaned as he thrust his hips forward surging his cock deep inside her. Marcia lifted one leg up and wrapped the calf and ankle round the back of Kevin's legs. They were now kissing furiously as their arousal and passion grew. He was pounding into her, she was squirming herself back against him. His hands were all over her breasts, the top of her dress now being completely open: her's were running up and down his back, slightly scratching it, worrying Kevin that she might carry out her earlier threat. 

"Oh fuck yes," she grunted. "Harder, fuck me harder," she moaned grabbing his arse and digging her fingernails into the pliant flesh.

"You horny cow," he replied, surging himself as far into her as he could go and then holding himself rigid in there as she writhed against his hardness, in effect fucking herself.

"I'm near," he grunted.

"Good," she responded.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Several more deep, slow thrusts from him, a few more writhing, squirming movements from Marcia, and they were both cumming. Each holding onto the cheeks of the other's bum and squeezing those delicious mounds they relished in their mutual climax.

"Phew," Marcia muttered falling against Kevin.

"Nice?" He asked.

"Mmm, bloody lovely."

"Come on we had better get back."

"Oh fuck look at my panties?" Marcia said. They both looked down and saw that they had slipped off from her foot and she or he had trod on them, they were covered in dirt.

"Easy," Kevin said, picking them up and shoving them in his pocket.

Chapter 3

They had sex again a couple of weeks later. This time it was at Stephen and Marcia's house in Hampstead. 

They got to know each other better, both socially and sexually. Kevin knew they were well off, but hadn't appreciated quite the level of Marcia's family wealth, which she explained in a matter-of-fact manner, not sounding at all boastful. From the house warming party, he knew that sexually she was a goer and up for some of the more outrageous aspects of sex, including being fucked up against a wall just outside a party at which she was guest and he the host. The warm afternoon in Hampstead confirmed that and they had four hours of uninhibited sex that promised well for the future.

The two couples had met at a dinner party given by, Jonas Bright a supplier to Kevin's business. It was quite a grand affair with ten or so couples at his huge apartment overlooking Regents Park. They had hit it off well and discovered that they were going to be in Hong Kong at the same time a few weeks later. They had met up for dinner a couple of times out there and had then seen each other again in Jonas' box at Royal Ascot. Things just progressed from there and a year later, when Kevin and Amanda moved to large house in Essex, just outside London to the east, they had naturally been invited and, almost as naturally, Kevin and Marcia had fucked.

Stephen was suspicious of Marcia and Kevin, but then, quite rightly he was suspicious of her with most men. He knew she played around, but had no idea of the scope, variety and nature of her 'infidelities.' He put up with it firstly, because as a psychologist he studied and understood human behaviours. 'That's just how she is,' he rationalised and secondly he loved her. Simple, straightforward and unarguable reasons.

Marcia was naked. She was laying on a huge bed in a Mayfair hotel, on her front, her slender, shapely legs wide open. Her, long, straightened brown hair with highlights was tumbling over her bare back onto the bed. Kevin had just made her cum by lying between her legs and sucking, licking and kissing her arse. 

At their session in her house in Hampstead, Kevin had discovered that she was very sensitive there and that she liked anal foreplay; he hadn't yet, but fully intended to soon, found out, though, whether she liked being fucked up her arse. Along with most parts of a woman's body, he was an arse man. He adores plating womens' bums and having them do the same, and more if they would, to his.

Marcia knew that it wouldn't be long, maybe even today, before Kevin would want to have her arse. She didn't mind that, although always felt it wasn't all that it was often cracked up to be, for the woman that is. The incongruity of anal sex was that she found the foreplay hugely sensual and massively arousing. She loved being made to cum through the use of fingers, tongues and lips on her bum hole, just as Kevin was doing now.

"You really are a dirty bitch, aren't you?" He grunted between pushing the tip of his tongue right against that delightfully puckered entrance and sucking at Marcia's arse.

"You're the one with their mouth up an arse, so what's that make you?" She replied.

He gave her a thwack on her arse, storing the fact that her response sounded like a purr of pleasure.

He renewed his efforts, sucking and licking and combining the use of his fingers with that of his mouth. 

Marcia was writhing with pleasure. She slid a hand down her body and found her clit. 'What could be better' she thought to herself, a tongue on your arse and a finger up it, as you play with your own clit?' Not much, she concluded, because she was starting to cum. 

She didn't often allow a man, particularly a relatively new one in her life, such control. Normally, she ran the show, but with Kevin she was realising she had met her sexual equal. 'Well for a man that is,' she smiled to herself as those wonderful feelings roared through her body. Even as her body shuddered and she writhed and made deep, animal sounding from her throat, he kept fucking her arse with his finger and licking and sucking everywhere down there. 

She finished, well the noisy bit, that is, the tingling and little tremors kept on for some time. Half of her wished that he would hold her, cuddle her and whisper tender messages in her ear. But she knew he wouldn't for that was not what their affair was all about.

She lay still for a while, regaining her composure. She felt him moving around on the bed. He took both of her wrists in his hands and pulled them, gently above her head. Then, she felt something being wrapped round them. It didn't register at first what he was doing, but then suddenly, as she felt whatever it was that was wrapped round her wrists being pulled tight, she caught on. 'He's tying me up the bastard,' she realised, opening her eyes and trying to turn onto her back. She couldn't as he stopped with his hands.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Marcia asking answering the question herself really as she watched her wrists being tied to the headboard.

"Simple Marcia, tying you up."

"Why, I don't like that."

"You will," he replied.

It didn't feel as if her wrists had been tied too tightly and she struggled looking at where they were tied to the bed. 'The bastard has only used my fucking knickers to tie me up,' she recognised, pulling and twisting her body and wrists.

"You bastard," she growled, feeling annoyed at the smug look on his face.

"Now, now," Kevin replied enjoying and starting to get aroused at seeing her slim body writhing and squirming on the bed. "Oh fuck," he said seeing one of her hands come free. He grabbed it and tried tying her panties around it again, but couldn't manage it. 

"See you cocky sod, you can't do what I don't want you to do," Marcia said harshly as she struggled with him over her panties. "Now look what you have done, you fucking lunatic," she said after she had removed them from her wrists and the headboard of the bed. She held the pale blue, lacy panties up for him to see. They were not a thong as she usually wore, but had a full bottom and a small front cut acutely up from the gusset. They were made from silk and lace and had tiny strips joining the front and back. One of those and the gusset had been torn making them completely unwearable.

"They're fucking AP as well, sixty bloody quid a pair," she ranted.

"Well you'll just have to go commando won't you, you're probably used to it."

Sitting on the Northern Line of the tube Marcia felt odd. Although it was quite chilly, she wasn't wearing tights for she still had a good tan on her shapely legs from the two weeks she had recently spent in Antigua. 

She was wearing leather, mini skirt, which were highly fashionable at the time. With her legs crossed the skirt obviously rode up her legs, almost to her crotch. Normally that and the stares from the male travellers would not have bothered her at all. Today, though, both did bother her. Well more than bother for she felt a strange sort of arousal. 'If only they knew I wasn't wearing panties,' she smiled to herself, recrossing her legs, but making sure not to do a complete Sharon Stone! 

Marcia felt a tingle throughout her body all the way home. As she walked up the escalator at Hampstead station, she imagined that people behind her would be able to look up her skirt and see that she was naked under it. Of course they didn't and couldn't do that. Just as no one on the train who stared at her legs or walked behind her would know of her clothing omission. 

That was not the point, though, well not in her mind. The point was how not wearing knickers made her feel. And not to put too fine a point on that, it made her feel fucking horny.

Chapter 3.

"It's every young bloke's wet dream material' isn't it?" Gareth was telling his mates the Sunday after Amanda and Kevin's housewarming party. "She's got no tits to speak of, but what an arse?" He went on. "At the ball, I had my arms round her during this smoochy number and she was pressed bloody tightly against me. You can guess what happened?"

The three other traders he was talking to in the flat he shared with one of them made the inevitable raucous remarks. They had all been on the Stolli and each of them had had several lines, so they were relaxed, uninhibited and very open with each other. 

Gareth was in his early twenties and was beginning to make it as trader in the city. Especially with the coke, nothing seemed to be impossible, 

"Yes, right I got a hard on. I felt embarrassed."

"Yeah like fuck you did, I bet," one of them remarked.

"What doubting he got hard on, or that he was embarrassed?" another one asked, laughing.

"I thought she would at least, move away a little."

"So what did she do?"

"Her mouth was about level with my ear and I heard her go mmmmm, as she pressed herself harder against me."

"You lucky fucker."

"I was still a bit out of my stride for remember, she's mid thirties, married and as rich as God. Very upscale and really out of my league, I thought."

"Oh is this the humility side of Gal coming out? Out of his league, my arse."

"I mumbled sorry and she whispered, don't be. I said, stupidly you don't mind? She didn't say anything, but looking me right in the eyes, she simply pressed her mound right against my cock.

"And then?"

"Well I'd got me confidence then 'adn't I? It was quite dark and we were in a bit of a corner so I let my hands run down her back. She was wearing a long, sheath dress, tight as a second skin. She looked fucking fabulous. I felt her arse. At first it didn't register, but then suddenly I thought there was nothing under the dress. When it registered that she was probably stark bollock naked under it, my hard on nearly hit her chin."

"So what did you do?"

"I said, "seems as though you forgot something Marcia" as I ran my hand from her shoulders, all the way down her spine to the little wiggly bit at the end."

"What makes you think I forgot? She replied, so I said; left them off on purpose then, have you?"

"You cheeky bastard," one of his mates remarked.

"That's a coincidence," Gareth said taking a swig of vodka with a touch of water.

"Why?"

"That's exactly what Marcia said."

Chapter 4

After that arousing trip home on the Northern Line after Kevin had ruined her panties, Marcia thought she would ditch him. 'He's fucking crazy' she told herself as she was getting ready to play golf with Amanda and her next-door neighbour Toni at Marcia's golf club in Highgate.

"Hi Marcia," Amanda said down the phone. "I'm afraid Toni can't make it, still want to play?"

Amanda had this innocence about her. She was still completely besotted with Kevin and had this tendency to use phrases with unintentional double meanings. Marcia smiled at that.

"Just the two of us, of course I do," she replied.

Marcia had fucked the partners of several friends, so she didn't feel embarrassed with, or sorry for, Amanda. To her, sex was pretty much a commodity and if Kevin wanted her and she wanted him, what was the harm? Amanda, of course, had no idea, that her 'friend' and her husband had shagged each other at the housewarming or that they had started an affair.

It was unseasonably warm for late October. Bright and sunny and in the low sixties, Marcia decided to wear a short, sleeveless golf shirt, which just tucked into her cropped trousers. Both were quite tight. 

She had no idea what prompted her not to wear underwear, but when she saw the reflection of her bum in the mirror, she felt excited. The thin cotton material was drawn tightly and beautifully smoothly over the pert, symmetrical, taught cheeks of her bum. It fitted snugly round her rather prominent pubic mound and rubbed excitedly against her lips and the hood covering her clit. She put her finger right there. Bang, she felt an internal explosion of want. 'Mmmmm,' she thought 'I can almost cum on demand.' 




The Power of Clothing Pt. 10



Amanda was a little in awe of the somewhat 'larger than life' Marcia. Although she came from a comfortable background, she had been brought up to be conservative and considered in how she behaved. She was slightly introvert and hated being the centre of attention or losing control over herself. 

Until recently, she was convinced that she and Kevin were for life and that there was no other man for her. She had, since they had first started together when she was a young copywriter and he was her client, believed that they were made for each other. The birth of their daughter Sammi had made her commitment stronger and her belief more convincing. Both of those, however, had been knocked badly over the past two years when she had found out that he had been unfaithful to her. Now, she was seeing the signs again of his unfaithfulness and she was pretty sure he was 'at it' again.

Amanda and Marcia had become fairly close in the way that opposites attract, probably. Amanda found her easy to talk to and appreciated her no nonsense and decisive views on issues, which was so different to her approach. She found Marcia to be a little outrageous, liked her don't give a damn attitude and the manner in which, whatever the company and circumstances, she was always in control.

They hadn't taken the round of golf very seriously for it was warm and they talked too much. Marcia had also been a little distracted by the tightness of Amanda's golf top, which showed her spectacular breasts off marvellously. Amanda was not aware that Marcia often dabbled with ladies and that it was large breasts which we her particular attraction. Marcia was equally unaware that Amanda had also had some experience of her own gender, but that was a long time ago in her teens. Despite that, Amanda still had little rushes of arousal when she saw a particularly attractive woman, a flash of too much breast or leg or when a female came onto her, by touch or by holding her gaze just that tad too long. 

Standing behind Marcia as she played her shots from the classic golf pose of, nearly straight legs, a slight bend at the waist and the bum pushed out Amanda, couldn't help her gaze being drawn to her friend's beautifully shaped and perfectly proportioned bottom. Each time she looked, she felt little rushes of a warm tingling feeling, but, for the first few holes, all of which she won, other than the lovely shape, Amanda couldn't work out why Marcia's bum was affecting her so much. Standing behind her on the fourth green as Marcia putted, it suddenly hit Amanda like a blow to the stomach. 'She's not wearing knickers. There's no VPL or ridges or anything.' She didn't win many more holes.

Chapter 5

Marcia met Kevin for dinner at the Connaught, his favourite London restaurant. It was a little risky, for both of them knew many people that might eat there, but then as Kevin had said down the phone. "What the fuck, let's live dangerously."

She hadn't quite forgiven him for what had happened last time they had met. On reflection, it wasn't ruining her AP panties, that didn't really matter; it was the way that he had taken control of her. 'Tying me up for fuck's sake, how dare he, without my permission?' She had thought when she was determined not to see him again. That hadn't lasted long. She wasn't having that much success with new conquests and Kevin was a real goer, very much like her, seemingly up for anything with an adventurous attitude and approach. 'How many men would fuck a guest at his and his wife's housewarming party?' She had asked herself several times adding. 'And just outside the party, up against a wall where they could so easily have been caught.' Smiling at the rhetorical question, she had answered it the same way several times. 'Not many.'

The food was excellent and the service brilliant, but the whole place was stuffy and extraordinarily pompous. They were getting on well and had started playing footsie under the table, which was covered in a long, almost down to the floor, crisp, white tablecloth. 'Designed for rubbing your partner's leg' she thought, slipping her Jimmy Choo shoe off and running her stockinged toe inside Kevin's trouser and up his bare leg.

"So you survived the tube journey with no knickers did you?" He asked, just loud enough for the people at the next table to hear, if they were listening. 

"Yes, no thanks to you, you crazy bastard," she replied at about the same decibel level.

Smiling as he swallowed a piece of lobster and sipped his Mersault, Kevin placed his hand on the back of hers and said, in if anything a slightly louder voice.

"Darling you say the most romantic things."

Also smiling and gripping his hand she replied. "Don't you fucking darling me."

They finished their main courses and Marcia announced. "I'm going to the lavatory."

"You will be coming," Kevin said pausing meaningfully on coming and making it sound like cumming, as he smiled, glanced at the older people on the next table, and added. "Back won't you, my sweet."

"Fuck off," she snarled, actually quite pleased with the mischief.

Kevin followed her progress across the elegant, wood panelled and slightly old-fashioned dining room. Her slim form with her gorgeous arse cut a fine picture, not just for him, but also for several other watchers, he noted feeling proud she was with him. 

Marcia was wearing a knee-length, deep purple or mauve, clingy dress. It had buttons all the way up the front. Kevin had noted when they had met in the bar earlier that there was three buttons open at the top, showing a nice expanse of her tanned chest and a small part of her tiny breasts. He could see she wasn't wearing a bra. Sitting on the bar stool, the heel of one of the strappy, ludicrously expensive shoes from the new rave designer Jimmy Choo, hooked on the stool-rail, the other on the floor, Marcia was showing quite a lot of black, fishnet covered leg. It looked good and made Kevin feel even more horny than he had been all day in anticipation of the evening with her.

He had ordered her a Pernod and himself a Scotch and had run his eyes up and down her slim, almost boy-like figure; he liked women like that and not as his wife Amanda had become, voluptuous. 

He liked the way that she was so assured and confident as if places such as The Connaught, one of the most established and expensive hotels in London, were her natural habitat. On second thoughts, Kevin realised, they probably were! Perched on the bar stool, her slim back ramrod straight, her legs crossed she was smoking a smelly Gauloise. The skirt of her dress had fallen aside from the two open buttons.

Kevin was again able to watch her progress across the room. 'Fuck, look at the leg she's showing' he thought feeling that he had seen the start of a stocking top. He had certainly seen something else, though.

"Feel better now darling," he asked standing up and holding her chair as she returned to even more stares from the largely businessmen diners.

"Much, thank you sweety," Marcia replied sitting down.

"The buttons just come undone on their own did they?"

She smiled, pleased that he had noticed. "No, why would they? I just like flashing me bits now and then."

"Well you certainly did that," Kevin replied as the waiter approached them for their dessert orders.

She waited a while as they chatted away. Just as the elderly, French waiter was approaching the table, she leaned forward, making the top of her dress gape more, and said quite loudly again. "I have a present for you, darling."

"Oh that's nice, what is it?" He replied, genuinely pleased and hugely curious.

Reaching her hand out so it was over his menu, which was lying on the table, Marcia paused there for a moment and then opened her fingers.

Just as the waiter arrived, the three of them stared at what she had dropped. Smiling and not at all concerned, Marcia said. "There you are darling, my present, what you ripped last time you fucked me."

Considering everything, all three of them handled the situation well. Marcia smiled and took a swig of wine, Kevin slowly picked up the delicate, white lace thong and the waiter said, very drily.

"Will madam or sir be requiring anything further."

Chapter 6.

"You stupid, fucking, dirty bitch," he said laughing as he parked the Aston Martin in a pull off from the road round the back of Highgate Cemetery, quite near to the area where Karl Marx is buried.

"You say the most charming things," she replied, her hand inside his trousers, which she had opened driving along Holloway Road.

He leaned across the central console and kissed her. She immediately opened her mouth and pushed her tongue against his. He slid his hand in the top of her dress, cupped her breast and pinched her already inflated nipple. She pushed the top of his trousers aside and pulled his shirt tail out, thus making room to slip her hand inside his boxers and find his cock. It felt good.

"Mmmmm nice," he said putting his hand on her knee. The fishnet felt very sensual indeed, especially when he started sliding his hand upwards, especially when he reached the stocking tops, especially when he felt that patch of skin above them and extra especially when Marcia slowly parted her legs.

It was tight, but there was just about enough room. It was awkward, a little cramped and hard to move, but they could just make it. He was sitting in the passenger seat with Marcia on his lap facing him. She was able to slide one leg between the seat and the door, and the other up and over the central console and between the two seats. Her dress was undone to the waist, but beneath that it covered both of them.

"So any nosy fucker that looks in won't see a thing will they?" Kevin had said as they manipulated themselves into the positions.

"Only my tits," Marcia said, excited by the prospect of having sex in a car; it had been a long time since she had been shagged like that.

"Don't worry, they wouldn't notice," Kevin joked truthfully, but rather hurtfully.

"Lift up a bit," he said placing his hand on her hips.

She raised herself as he reached down and held his erection away from his body. "Now come down," Kevin said, adding "Fuck it," when he found the angle was wrong. He shuffled further forward in the seat, still holding his cock and pressing it enquiringly against her lips. They both laughed as again they couldn't get it in.

"It reminds me now, why I gave up fucking in the front of a car," Kevin said.

Her head was pressed against the low roof of the sports car, it hurt and was uncomfortable.

"Let me down a bit, this is awful." Marcia moaned.

"Shit I think I'm getting cramp." Kevin told her.

"Oh fuck it," Marcia said opening the door. She wiggled her way out. "Come on."

He followed. 

"It was good enough the first time, it'll be good enough now," she said, leaning back against the car and undoing the rest of the buttons on her dress. There was, of course, no bra, but what gave Kevin the biggest kick was that there were no panties either, she was naked apart from the self-support stockings. 

"So you horny bitch," he said ramming his cock into her eagerly waiting hole. "You did take them off in The Connaught?"

"No" she grunted the sensation from his sudden thrust deep inside her taking her breath away. "I wasn't wearing them all the time. I haven't worn panties since the day you ripped them."



The Power of Clothing Pt. 11



We have seen how wearing stockings opened Sammi up so that she let her brother fuck her. Now we see how they persuade her to have sex with an older, married man.

*

Chapter 1

Since being fucked by Gareth, her half brother, at her twenty-first birthday party, Sammi had changed, a lot. Not physically, for she remained the good looking girl with long blonde hair, nice, but small tits, good legs and a great arse. It was emotionally, her attitudes and approach, particularly to sex, where the changes had come about, and remarkably quickly.

Gareth was a sod really. He played the field. He had loads of girls of all ages from eighteen to fifty, he wasn't fussy. He was even shagging his step-mother's best friend, Marcia and would have loved to fuck his step mother Amanda.

He earned a fortune using his wits as a dealer in the city. He ran a desk of ten traders and at the age of thirty-two had just been made a Managing Director. That meant bugger all, other than an extra thirty grand on his basic and a more aggressive bonus scheme, which should pretty much guarantee him near to, if not in excess of, a million pounds this year.

Sammi was completely different. Other than the peculiarity of having sex with her half brother, she had always been quite straight-laced, even a little prudish about sex. She hadn't lost her virginity until well into her eighteenth year, which in Essex where she lived was almost unknown for an attractive girl, especially a blonde. At university, she had two lovers and then Gareth at her twenty first, just over a year ago. The sex with Gareth had started, coincidentally, at her eighteenth birthday party. Not full sex, that had to wait three more years, but heavy petting to the point where he took her bra off, sucked her nipples and made her cum with his fingers.

After they did go all the way, in the early hours of the morning of the party in her bedroom, they met now and then and exchanged loads of emails and the occasional phone call. They couldn't date in the traditional way, for nobody could know about them. Even in the fairly easy-going social scene of Essex that would have been too much.

The full sex had been amazing, more for her than him actually. Gareth had drunk too much and had had a few lines of coke, but fortunately had remembered to take the Viagra that he, along with most of his hard-drinking, coke-snorting, pill-popping city mates, relied upon. It had done its job, for when Sammi came into her bedroom where he was waiting naked on her bed, he was able to present her with a full-blown hard on, of which he was justifiably proud. 

Gareth had a cocky sort of charm that appealed to women; he could get away with a lot and pushed his chances as far as he could. That was how he was so successful pushing shares and other stuff that made him millions and it was how he was as successful at getting into women's knickers.

He had persuaded the normally reserved Sammi to strip down to just the black, seamed nylon stockings she was wearing. He had worked out she was wearing them when they had danced and he had felt the elastic running round their tops holding them up. That had immediately perked his interest. Shortly after, he had managed to get her alone and had pulled the material alongside one of the long slits up the side of the floor-length gown. The view of the lacy stocking-tops confirmed his earlier feel and probably made the use of the Viagra unnecessary, for he immediately got a big hard on.

After stripping down to them and being told by Gareth to leave them on for "I want to fuck you in them," Sammi had joined him on her bed; the door was firmly locked. It was a fairly straightforward fuck, but to Sammi it was not only magical but also life-changing as well, after all how many girls get to fuck their half brothers?

They laid in each others arms, her breast were squashed against his chest, the length of his sturdy, thick erection was squashed into her flat tummy. They kissed and licked each other as their hands roamed all over the other's body. Sammi's, inexperienced at roaming, concentrated on Gareth's chest, his, hugely experienced at visiting every part of the female body, focused on her tits and arse, his favourite places. 

Sammi had no experience at all of anal sex. Neither of her three previous lovers had more than stroked her beautifully symmetrical cheeks; none had slipped their fingers into the tight crease, none had used their mouth on any part of it, none had touched her anus and none had been inside it with anything. 

Gareth changed all that. Within no more than a five minutes of lying on the bed he made her cum. He was lying on his back. He pulled her on top of him so that they laid face to face, kissing. The feel of her stockings on his legs excited Gareth even more. He pulled her legs apart and slid a finger between them right onto her lips, which were already damp. Sammi jerked, it felt so good. He wiggled it around sending lovely sensations through her, but that wasn't the purpose of him fingering her. He slid that finger upwards, away from her pussy towards the crease in her bum. He slipped it into that and ran it along the crease, gradually slowing and focusing on just one place, her arsehole.

This was all so new to her. Sure, she had read about anal foreplay and penetration, but had not experienced anything and hadn't felt much curiosity about it, not as she had about sex with other woman. Now, though, as Gareth, softly at first, but then with increasing pressure, rubbed his lubricated finger right on her hole, her entire body exploded with sensations. The sensations seemed to increase proportionately, the harder he pressed and, she realised, the more he opened her up, so the greater the excitement and sexual pleasure. Sammi was amazed, for she had no idea that her bum could be such a pleasure giver. Suddenly, though, he had stopped. Without a word, he turned onto her back. He took hold of both of her ankles and lifted them up so that the front of her thighs were pressed against her boobs, he pulled them open and laid between them.

"God those fucking stockings are amazing," he muttered, running both his hands up and down Sammi's legs and pushing his fingers inside the tops a little. Sammi smiled and felt pleased that she had taken the Sloany salesgirl, Pippa's advice in Harvey Nicks.

Gareth pulled Sammi's legs open and laid between them. He was pushing the head of his cock against her lips, they opened and with a shrug of his hips he surged inside her. She was pleased, and relieved, that he went in so effortlessly, for he was bigger than any of her previous lovers. It felt great as he started to move up and down, in and out of her. 

Sammi felt his hand sliding around her and down her back. It was on her bum. He pinched the firm, yet beautifully yielding flesh and then slid his finger between her slightly opened cheeks. It was again pressing on her hole, she realised. 

It wasn't enquiring, Gareth was not asking permission, he was simply taking what he considered to be his right, Sammi's bum. With the selfish arrogance that had made him a top city trader, Gareth was thinking that for the moment, he would simply take that with his finger, but later it would be his with his tongue and then his cock. Yes, he had every intention of fucking his half-sister's arse, and soon.

Sammi had already started to cum. She climaxed easily. Having Gareth's lovely, big cock buried deep in her tight, young cunt had begun her orgasm. When she felt his finger sliding into her bum she went completely over the top. The rush of feelings, the combination of sensations and the new experience of her arse being invaded did her in completely. Less than five minutes after taking her panties off and joining Gareth on the bed, her mind and body both enjoyed a new meaning to the word orgasm.

She almost smiled as she thought. 'Thanks to the stockings.'

Chapter 2

They had to be extra careful. Of course they could meet as brother and sister might, but they couldn't go out together much, in fear of being seen by someone they knew. So mostly, Sammi would go to Gareth's flat in town where they would have sex and talk. It was these sessions that more than anything brought about the changes in Sammi's attitude towards sex over the next few months.

Gareth explained at some length his 'blokeish' approach and beliefs. 

"It's just a fucking commodity ain it," he'd said one afternoon as they lay naked in his bed after sex. 

He went on to destroy many of Sammi's ideals and beliefs about love and sex. Slowly, she understood that sex and love could be segmented.

"You can have fucking good sex without love, but you can't have love without sex," he explained adding "Unless you're a fucking monk or something, but then they're all fucking weird aren't they?"

"It's like anything enjoyable, it's for pleasure. It's only the fucking religious nutters in the past who said it was for the procreation of children, that's just a by product.

Gareth had loads of common sense, he was street wise and had a quick mind. Intellectual, though, he was not. That was more Sammi's department as the recent award of a 2:1 Honours Degree in English from a top ten university confirmed.

She took on board what he said. She read about sex a lot and attacked the intertnet trying desperately to broaden her understanding and appreciation of just what part it should play in a woman's life. All young people struggle, to one extent or the other, with sex. Some are scared, some confused, others go over the top. Some abstain, many don't, some become promiscuous. All wonder about it, many always do, but a few, the lucky few get it about right. 

The more Sammi researched 'the philosophy of sex' as she thought of it, the more she became convinced that the Scandinavians seemed to be most at ease with both sex in general and their sexuality in particular. She found one piece of research that indicated that over 60% of Swedish females and over 40% of males had experienced some form of same sex relationship. She also found out that approximately three-quarters of both sexes had been with another partner whilst in their present relationship and that nearly 50% of both genders knew that their partner had been with someone else.

The long rambling discussions with Gareth, which were full of common sense, and the research, which added some form and analysis to Sammi's thinking, really did begin to change her opinions, attitudes and approach to sex.

Gone was her reserve when thinking about it, gone were her predictable opinions, gone were her high morals and gone were her stereotypical thinking on sex. She began to accept that there were other ways than monogamy, that sex was for fun, it was like a hobby and was something to be enjoyed. It was not an essential part of love, more a useful add on. She escaped from her social conditioning 'that good girls don't' and embraced the new woman philosophy of 'if I want him, I'll have him.' 

And, of course, she bought many more pairs of stockings.

Chapter 3

The women had been asked to wear a white blouse and black or dark blue skirt or trousers and the men a white shirt and dark suit. Over those, they would wear the gown they would receive just before the graduation ceremony, and then, when presented with their degree, they would also receive their mortarboard, which would be placed on their head, 'like a regent being crowned,' Sammi giggled as she got ready for her graduation ceremony.

She was staying with a friend near the university. They had met in a local café, where Sammi would often sit and study, Claire worked close by. They had got to know each other quite well and Sammi had visited Claire's home and met her husband Greg many times in the two years or so they had been friends. Since leaving uni, Claire and Greg had visited Sammi and stayed at her mum and dad's house in Essex. They had become good, close friends. Both had good degrees, but were not at all money orientated. Greg worked for a research company which was a non-profit making organisation involved in green and other environmental issues and Claire ran an Oxfam charity shop, next to the café where she and Sammi had met. She was in her late twenties, Greg was a few years older in his mid thirties.

Kevin, Amanda, Sammi's brother and Marcia and Stephen were driving down for the ceremony, the champagne reception and then dinner after, they were not staying the night, whereas Sammi was. Sammi had also invited Claire and Greg to the awards ceremony and the dinner after, which Kevin had arranged in a private room at the top hotel in town, typical, flash sod, Sammi thought.

What prompted her to buy them, let alone be wearing them as she stood in front of the mirror in Claire and Greg's lovely little cottage, naked apart from them and the little black thong, she had no idea. 

The whole thing about stockings interested and excited her, even undoing them from the cellophane packaging. She loved looking at them, feeling their fine, smoothness on her fingers, seeing the seams, the fishnet or the lacy tops. The sensation as, naked, she rolled them one by one along her feet, over her trim ankles, up her calfs, over her knees and onto her thighs made her tingle. Pulling them tight so that the elasticated top was almost touching her pussy lips gave her a massive thrill. 

'God they are so fucking sexy,' she said to herself, slipping into the black, thin wool, pencil skirt, the white lace, diaphanous bra, which was cut very acutely across her boobs almost showing the edge of her areola, and the crisp, white cotton, button up blouse. 'I look like a fucking lawyer' she thought as she slipped the black gown onto her shoulders, 'It's like the girl wears in that ad for an insurance company' she thought, actually feeling rather horny because of the robe or cloak or gown or whatever the fuck it is.

"Wow," Greg said as she walked down the stairs, which led directly into the lounge cum dining room in the small cottage.

"You look fantastic," Claire said.

She did feel good.

The graduation went well, the following reception was fine, but the dinner with her relatives and their friends was boring. Her father, Kevin, was his normal flash self, playing up both to Marcia, who Sammi was convinced he was shagging, and to Claire who was attractive and lovely. Oddly, Sammi felt, Claire responded to Kevin's attention by playing up to her father. She didn't like that, but then she didn't like her father very much either!

At the reception, Sammi had come face to face with David Derkin. In his early forties, he had been her tutor and they had mildly flirted, but nothing more had happened.

"So, Sammi, pleased with the two one."

"Yes thank you David," she replied looking straight into his eyes.

They chatted for a few more minutes.

"So back to Essex this evening?" He asked nodding at her parents.

"No, I'm staying with my friend Claire, you met her remember?" Sammi asked pointing to her friend.

"Oh yes. For how long?"

"Tonight and tomorrow night, probably," she replied.

He flashed the broad smile that had always attracted her.

"Well as you are no longer a student, would you consider lunch tomorrow?"

Sammi was torn, momentarily.

"Mrs Derkin, not here then?" She asked, rather mischievously?

"No Sammi, she isn't."

Up until a short while ago, Sammi would have immediately refused. Her new-found sexual freedom and the spirit of sexual adventure she gained from that, however, stopped he.

"Yes that would be lovely."

They concluded the arrangements and just before they parted, he leaned close to her and whispered.

"And please, wear the stockings for lunch tomorrow Sammi," and was gone into the crowd

Chapter 4

It all just seemed so perfectly normal. So usual and typical, so very grown up, something that people like Sammi and David did all the time. 'Perhaps he does?' She wondered as she sat on the sofa in the lounge of his flat just wearing her panties and stockings.

Lunch had been at a bistro in the trendy part of town. They had drunk almost two bottles of wine. He had held her hand as they had walked alongside the river to a pub. He had a pint of bitter, Sammi a vodka.

"What was all that about wearing stockings?" she eventually plucked up the courage to ask.

"I like stockings, well seeing girls in them I mean."

"How did you know I was wearing them and not tights."

"Stockings nearly always crease round the ankles."

"Oh, so men can usually tell by that can they?"

He smiled. 

"And by careful observation of the girl's thighs, if she's wearing a tight skirt, you can see the outline of her stocking tops."

"I see, not when she's wearing jeans though," Sammi said, looking down at her jeans covered legs.

"No that then calls for other means." 

"Such as?" Sammi asked, quite intrigued by the discussion.

"This," David said, placing his hand on her leg about midway up her thigh.

The feel of his hand on her leg made her jump. It felt nice.

"And then this," he went on, running his hand upwards until it rested right on the band of elastic holding up her stockings.

"Thank you," he smiled.

"What for?"

"Wearing them."

"Oh I see, you're welcome," Sammi replied, not really being quite sure why she had worn them.

"Well I am pleased you did, shall we go?"

Sammi was impressed and excited at the way that David was taking control. She liked that, it was one of the reasons why she preferred older men. He didn't say where they were going, he didn't ask her opinion and he didn't ask for her permission to take her to his flat. He simply assumed she was up for it, as indeed, somewhat to her surprise, she was and, thus, willingly, and in some ways eagerly, she went with him to his home.

Once inside, he took her in his arms and kissed her, long and deep; he really was very good she thought. He caressed her, taking time to ensure she had gained sufficient pleasure from one place, before moving on. First her back, then her bum, then her breasts, outside her clothing, then inside. He slid his fingers suggestively and enquiringly inside the waist of her jeans, finding the elastic of her thong and pulling it. That pulled the thong tighter between the cheeks of her bottom and more firmly onto her lips and where her clit was snuggled inside the folds around her pussy.

They sat on the sofa, his hands gently persuading her white, tee shirt and blue, vee-kneck, lambswool, sweater over her head. They kissed more and, almost as expertly as a woman, he unclipped her bra.

"Stand up for me Sammi," he whispered.

She did, facing him. He remained sitting. He reached up and without asking, undid her belt. He looked into her eyes as he undid the button and then slid the zip down on her flies. He saw the pretty lace thong and then, as he rolled her jeans down her legs, the dark hold up stockings. Still with her jeans around her thighs, David ran his hand up and down the smooth nylon.

"God they are lovely, Sam," he moaned, suddenly running his hand up between her thighs, right onto the gusset of her thong and pressing firmly. That felt good and she grunted. Sammi flipped her shoes off as he pushed the jeans down and off her feet. She looked fantastic. 

He pulled her back down onto the settee kissing her, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples. He ran his hand up and down her back and then along her nylon encased legs. She parted them a little to give him the access she assumed he would want to her pussy, but then the phone rang.

"Shit, sorry Sam, I'll have to take it."

"Oh hi darling," he said brightly.

Sammi found it quite maddening. To be sat there naked, apart from just her thong and stockings as the man who had undressed chatted away to his wife in London, was not only frustrating, but also rather demeaning. True, David kept raising his eyebrows, mouthing 'sorry' and putting his hands out as if to say 'what can I do' and of course she realised, he hadn't known his wife would phone, but nevertheless he could have not answered it or made some excuse. 




The Power of Clothing Pt. 11



It was after what must have been ten minutes that Sammi felt similar to how she had when stripping in front of Gareth at her twenty-first. Something came over her, she found a confidence, almost an abandon. Looking at her stocking covered legs seemed to free her of her inhibitions.

With David watching her, she stood up. She ran her hands up and down her legs, across her thong and tummy and upwards to cup and squeeze her breasts, her eyes boring into his. She walked across the room and stood behind him. David was talking to his wife about their children. He seemed very at ease with her and the conversation did not sound at all like one between a husband and a wife who didn't get on, as he had said to Sammi several times when they had flirted whilst she was his pupil. 

She felt a little hurt, as if he was using her, which of course he was, which of course she realised. She had realised it when he invited her to lunch, when he had asked her to wear stockings, when he had ran his hand up her thigh in the pub and when he had undressed her. That was ok. She was comfortable with being used. If you wanted to call a girl about to have sex with a man she had strongly fancied for ages being used. Her newfound way of thinking about sex and relationships told her that if that was what she wanted, then take it; enjoy the physical and sod the emotional and social conditioning. 

But, of course, being a sexually liberated woman is not that clear cut. As she moulded her body to David's back and ran her hands down his front, she couldn't help thinking that maybe she was on a really slippery slope of totally destroying her morals and standards. As she felt him struggling and trying to push her off as he talked about the new car his bitch of a wife was collecting tomorrow, she wondered whether, fucking her half brother, having affairs with three other older men, two of which were still going on and now about to have sex with a, clearly, quite happily married man, might constitute an overly promiscuous attitude towards sex! Smiling, she couldn't answer that one.

Nevertheless, she stayed with it. A little part of her was suggesting that she should get dressed and leave. A larger part, however, was revelling in the sheer decadence of her situation. Why that would be when less than a year ago she was almost prudish about sex, she had no idea? 

Her hands found his cock inside his trousers, it was disappointingly soft. Despite his struggles and gestures to stop, she managed to undo his belt and zip. She pushed his cords aside and slid her hand inside his boxers.

"For Christ's sake Sam," he mouthed, holding his hand across the phone. "No darling, it was the TV, there's nobody here," he said back into the phone, opening his eyes wide to Sammi in an expression saying stop. Sammi smiled and whispered.

"Fuck off," as she started to stroke and rub his now hardening cock.

He kept struggling and twice said. "Look darling, I need to go," but was clearly unable to shake her off. He again placed his hand over the mouthpiece. "I'll just be five minutes, please hang on Sam."

She again smiled, but this time Sammi yanked his jeans and boxers down round his thighs. He was nearly hard. She moved round to him so she was facing him. They looked right into each other's eyes. She undid his shirt.

"I should be home on Tuesday," he was saying as Sammi's lips went round his nipple.

"Early evening," he said as she sucked on his nipple and stroked his cock at the same time.

"Probably be easier by train," David was saying to his wife as Sammi slowly licked and kissed her way down his body, bending almost at ninety degrees at her waist. 

Despite his dilemma and being on the phone to his wife, David was immensely stirred at the sight. He couldn't see Sammi's boobs, for her back was in the way and, in any case, her long blonde, almost straight hair was tumbling over her shoulders, onto his stomach and falling round his cock and balls. It was the rest of her that was so stirring for him. Her slim back, her beautifully pert bottom, the backs of her long legs and of course the stockings. They looked incredible, their dark nylon setting off the paleness of her skin to perfection. He ran his hand up and down the back of them.

Sammi heard him saying. "Will you pick me up at the station?" As her descending face reached his navel. 

She was holding his cock, it was as good as fully erect; warm, hard, smooth and nicely throbbing. She so loved men's cocks when close up and personal to them.

"I'll need to shower and change, I won't have time before leaving here," David murmured to his wife as Sammi slid his cock deep into her mouth.

"Just twenty minutes," he grunted as she pumped him in and out of her mouth.

Sammi wasn't that experienced at giving oral, but from the way Gareth and the couple of others she had provided it to responded, she was clearly pretty good: 'a natural' one had suggested. She found it easy. Just be patient, do things slow and gentle and replicate with your mouth what they do with their cocks in your pussy and you can't go far wrong she had worked out. Reading about it on the net and watching some porn had also helped.

As far as David was concerned, the other guys' judgement was spot on, she really was a natural. It was now, though, becoming a real struggle. He didn't dare pull away for fear of what Sammi might do, she was clearly far more feisty than he had at first imagined, but he just couldn't get rid of his wife. As he was struggling with his dilemma, he felt Sammi's fingers cupping his balls, her fingernail running across them and her fingers gently squeezing them as her mouth concentrated on the bulbous knob end of his cock. She was sucking that, licking and kissing it. It was fucking brilliant, for both of them aqctually.

Sammi felt his fingers slip between her legs from behind, she opened her legs to give him easier access.

"Well if we're a little late that's just too bloody bad."

She felt the gusset of her thong being fiddled aside and then the delight of his fingers sliding inside her. She pressed back against them.

"No darling I'm fine, I don't sound strange."

She was now taking his entire length as far into her mouth as she could manage, holding it there, still and rigid for a moment or two, then slithering her lips back down until just the very tip was between her lips. That was working. She knew it and he felt it. His fingers were also working. She felt that and he knew that, for Sammi was squirming and pushing against the surrogate cock as David was now rhythmically fucking the surrogate cunt her mouth provided for him.

The inevitable happened. They both started to cum. She managed to get him out of her mouth before he ejaculated; she might be liberated, but she wasn't mad and no way was a first time fuck going to cum in her mouth.

"Yes, oh Christ, I'm fine."

Still holding his cock and still squirming her pussy, Sammi moved her mouth. Squeezing the head of his cock she straightened up a little so that he breasts were level with its tip.

"I just caught my finger on something, that's all."

"Oh yes, yes," Sammi whispered as her climax broke.

"Yes, yes, yes," David grunted as his cock exploded and he shot his sperm all over Sammi's chest and tits.

"I didn't mean anything, sorry," David was saying as Sammi moved away, provocatively wiggling her bum above her stocking covered legs as she walked to the bathroom.

"Of course there's no one here, I would tell you if there was," were the words Sammi heard as she slipped out of the flat, thinking 'Is being a sexually liberated woman worth it?

Chapter 5

"For Christ's sake, don't let Greg know you wear them," Claire was saying that evening as they sat watching TV, waiting for him to return from a meeting.

Claire had explained to Sammi that she had seen the washed stockings hanging in the tiny shower room attached to the guest bedroom when she had put fresh towels in there.

"Why not?"

"Well, as with many men, he has a real thing about them."

"They do seem to have become popular, don't they?"

"Yes, do you wear them often, Sam?"

It was odd, but at uni, she had been known as Sam, whereas at home it was always Sammi. She didn't mind what she was called apart from Samantha.

"No I don't. I had never worn them until my twenty first."

"Really, so what prompted you to wear them then?"

Sammi recounted the episode with Pippa, the sales assistant in Harvey Nicks.

"I just felt they sort of went with the long dress."

"Well you certainly looked lovely at the party, 

"And very sexy, if I may be so bold," Greg said as he walked into the room.

"Thank you kind sir," Sammi replied in the light, flirty way their relationship had developed.

"Hi both of you, I must grab a shower," he advised walking out of the lounge and up the stairs.

"Did he hear what we were talking about?" Sammi asked.

"Not the stockings no, I'm sure he would have mentioned them."

"Good."

"He really does have a big thing. He often buys them for me."

"Do you like wearing them?" Sammi asked, partly out of general curiosity, but also as part of her research into 'the philosophy of sex' as she termed it.

"I do actually, they make me feel sexy, they're like an aphrodisiac. Know what I mean?"

"Yes I do actually, but you don't need that, do you?"

"I don't know Sam, we're coming up for ten years of being together, we need a new spark every now and then."

"And the stockings help do they?"

"Yes, if I wear them, they really turn him on, he's like a bloody tiger."

"That must be nice then, your long-term lover so keen."

"Yes it is, but I sometimes wish it was purely me and not the stockings or other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

"Oh he likes me wearing sexy underwear; suspender belts, basques thongs and that sort of stuff."

"And you ok wearing them?"

"Yes, it's actually fun."

They heard Greg walking around in the bedroom, which was over the lounge.

"Anyway Sam, mum's the word on this, ok? I don't want anyone thinking we're fetishists, it's just a bit of fun."

"I won't tell a soul."

"Particularly not Greg about you wearing stockings."

"Ok I won't but why the secrecy."

"If he knew you did I doubt I could control him."

"How do you mean."

"Well he has always fancied you like hell, you know?"

"Has he now?" Sammi asked as Greg came into the room.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 12



Marcia hadn't meant to fuck Gareth. She hadn't planned it or thought about it, or even him really, since Amanda and Kevin's housewarming a month or so ago. 

There, they had danced together. There, he had ran his hands down her back and onto her bum and had found she wasn't' wearing any underwear. There he had a hard on and had pressed it suggestively against Marcia. It was also there, at that party, that Marcia had been fucked by Gareth's dad, otherwise she may well have responded to Gareth's blatant suggestion.

Gareth, on the other hand, had thought of little else since the party other than having sex with Marcia. He was obsessed by her, his stepmother Amanda's best friend. He had been since he first met her when he was twenty or so, some four years ago. 

She was attractive in a hard, rich bitch sort of way. Angular features, thin lips and a pointy nose stopped her being classically beautiful, but she was glamorous and vivacious, people were impressed by her and remembered her, most men fancied her. Her short, beautifully groomed, dark hair, green eyes and prominent cheekbones made her memorable. She had the confidence which having money of a level where you don't have to give a fuck brings, was outgoing, at times outrageous and she used every single one of her womanly charms continuously. Fairly tall, around five nine, she was slim and as good as flat-chested, just two little puffs of flesh capped by big, dark nipples. She had great legs and an awesome arse. The overriding aspect of Marcia that appealed to men was the strong hint of availability she always promoted. She appeared to be 'up for it' all the time, and it was that which had given Gareth the strong attraction towards her.

That had been ten years ago. Since then, they had been fairly regular lovers as Marcia had also been with Gareth's father, Kevin. Her sense of mischief was stimulated by the fact that she was fucking the father and the son, but thankfully, not, she sometimes smiled, the Holy Ghost as well. However, it would have been even more stimulating if she had been able to get inside Amanda's knickers as well or, even better, Kevin and Amanda's blonde bombshell of a daughter Sammi. Maybe bridges too far she had thought over the years.

It was Kevin who had fostered Marcia's love of not wearing underwear. With tits the size of her, 'basically pimples with raspberries on them' as she had been known to refer to them, she didn't need a bra, although until the housewarming, she always wore panties. 

Two events changed that. 

Kevin took her into the grounds of the house and fucked her up against the wall of the pool changing room. In so doing, her panties slid to the floor and were ruined. Kevin put them in his pocket and hence, later that evening the extreme thrill for his son from his first marriage. A week or so later in a hotel bedroom he used Marcia's panties to tie her wrists to the bed. In so doing, they were torn. She had to travel home on the tube in her short skirt, with no tights or panties. She found she loved it and got immensely turned on by not wearing them. In the ten years since then, she rarely wore any, irrespective of her attire.

Chapter 2

She was at Amanda's house. Gareth had popped in to collect something. A derivatives trader who lived on his wits and instincts, he was just starting to be successful. In other words, he was earning obscene amounts of money for someone who had no real skills other than the ability to get people to buy what he was selling. In business that was stocks and shares, in his social life to women it was come to bed. It was his quick wits and instincts that made him successful in both settings; at work he was earning over two-hundred thousand a year and socially he was sleeping with far more women of all ages than he could count.

"I'll give you a lift," he said seeing a way to get Marcia to himself. She had lost her driving a licence for a drink offence a few months ago and was preparing to go home by tube.

"I live in Hampstead, Gareth," she said seemingly recalling that he lived in the East End.

"That's alright," he beamed, standing up and taking hold of Marcia's elbow. "Practically on my way ma'am, your carriage awaits."

Marcia looked at him as Amanda was getting her coat. She saw the look of desire and availability

in his eyes that she was familiar with then. It was a look with which she became even more familiar as time and the number of men and women she slept with increased.

Marcia was wearing the same, slightly too short for a mid thirties woman, black, leather skirt she had worn when she and Kevin had met in the hotel, when he had ruined her panties by using them to tie her up, when she had travelled home commando. Yes when Marcia had first found the delights of being naked under her top clothes. 

On top, she was wearing a thin, round neck, pink cashmere sweater through which her rather prominent nipples made indentations. This was particularly noticeable when the soft material was stretched, as it was now when Marcia was shrugging into the black puff jacket. Gareth saw the interesting bumps appear; he stared at them. Marcia knew they were on show and she stared at Gareth. Their eyes caught, they held the gaze for a moment, and it was then that they both knew they probably would fuck.

In celebration of his new-found wealth, Gareth had just bought a 911. As the low-slung seat meant that Marcia's legs were stretched almost flat out under the dashboard, her short skirt, inevitably rode up even further. They both saw that, they both looked at the long expanse of tanned flesh, they both glanced at each other; neither said anything and neither did anything, other than look.

They chatted quite easily as the drove slowly through the heavy rush hour traffic. Even though driving from Essex into the East End, they were going against the main flow it was still awfully slow. As they got near to Stratford, Marcia said.

"Why don't you drop me, I can get the tube from here."

"What on a crowded tube wearing that skirt," he quipped back.

"Yes, why not?"

"You ever travel in the rush hour?"

"Only home from the West End on the Northern Line."

"This is the Central Line and it's in bandit country."

Marcia laughed, raising one foot up a little and bending the knee that was away from Gareth.

"I can look after myself."

"I'm sure you can," Gareth said his eyes drooling up and down Marcia's great legs. 

Due to her movement, the hem of the leather skirt had risen even further up her thighs. It was excitingly high, dangerously so. 'Almost panty level' Gareth was thinking, as his cock started to grow. The way her left leg was bent and her right was flat meant that the hem dipped down from one leg to the other, forming a little tunnel up the few remaining, covered inches of Marcia's, slightly parted thighs. 'Fuck, from another angle I could look right up it he thought' wondering if the no panties thing was a one off or a permanent habit.

He went on. "It's also city boy territory from Liverpool Street, and you know what they are like don't you?"

Smiling to herself at his less than sophisticated chat lines and rather obvious, but nevertheless welcomingly flattering, ogling of her legs, Marcia looked at him, caught his eye, smiled and said. 

"I'm certainly beginning to Gareth."

Marcia had recently become more worried about her advancing age and felt in need of constant reassurance that she was attractive and desirable. Hence, the short skirts, the low cut tops, the no bras and probably the no panties as well. It was seeking this, which almost certainly, or so her psychologist husband thought, made her need the pleasure of constant new conquests. And it was precisely that which made her turn it on with Gareth. 

She turned slightly onto her right side, bent both knees a bit, put her elbow on the back of the seat, and supported her head with her hand.

Almost gulping, he asked. "And what have you learned Marcia?"

She smiled as she saw his eyes drift towards her legs. She moved them slightly. That completed his erection, 'Fucking hell,' he thought as he imagined reaching over and pulling the skirt up to see if she was wearing anything under them.

Marcia replied, with a smile, "That some are real cheeky bastards."

'Shit, was that referring to the conversation when I asked if she had forgotten something?' He wondered

He laughed. "But we have good memories, unlike some."

Sounding quite serious, Marcia replied. "I have a very good memory, for most things."

'She is replaying that conversation,' he realised as, indeed, she was.

"But of course you do some things on purpose don't you Marcia?"

There was silence for a moment. They were in a jam near Kings Cross Station; the traffic was awful.

"Look Gareth, I could jump out here, I'll be home in half hour."

Gareth panicked, he couldn't let her go, he knew he was near, if only there was somewhere he could take her, he was sure she was up for it.

"Marcia, as much as I would love to see you getting out of this fucking ridiculous car in that skirt, I insist on you staying."

"Why?" She asked, letting her arm fall straight along the back of his seat.

In keeping with his work style and general risk-taking personality, Gareth went for broke, or at least started to.

"Because Marcia, looking at your legs in here, is like having a soft porn movie in my own fucking car."

She laughed. "Just soft? I'm disappointed."

"Well some things are far from soft."

"And what, pray, might they be." She asked, her fingernail softly scratching his neck.

"Give me your hand and I'll show you, if you like."

She pondered for a moment or two. Were things going too quickly? Did she want yet another sexual complication in her life? Was it too much to be fucking both Gareth and his dad? Did she really want to get mixed up with a kid, ten or twelve years younger than her? Could she cope with fucking her best friend's stepson as well as her husband? All these thoughts were going through her mind as she also thought of the stamina that young men had, their ability to get hard so soon after cumming, their capabilities of shagging many times in an evening and of the firm, lithe body that she knew from seeing him swimming Gareth possessed. Thosee thoughts won the day and she slowly held her left hand out towards him.

Driving with just his right hand was not a problem in the five to ten miles an hour crawl, so it was simple for him to grasp Marcia's hand. Slowly, but with bated breath on both their parts, he pulled her hand and placed it right on his uncomfortably restricted erection. He opened his legs a little more and leaned back further. That was all so suggestive on his part and inviting to her. 

She ran her fingers over the bulge, which quite frankly could have been anything, for it was so caught up in his trousers, shirttail and pants. She knew what was expected, though. What Gareth hoped for and what she, as a willing participant was, almost, duty bound to do. She pressed and pushed, pulled and wiggled until she freed him from the other restrictions, until his erection could do what it was supposed to do, stand ramrod straight right up his wonderfully flat stomach. It was big, thick more than long, which she preferred. She ran her fingers along its length.

"Nice?" She asked.

"Yes, but could be nicer."

She smiled. "How?"

Without asking her permission or messing around any more he reached down and started to undo his zip. Scrunched up in the low sports seat of the car that was difficult.

"Fuck," he said lifting himself up by holding onto the steering wheel, he tried to undo the zip. As much as he wiggled and moved, lifted himself up and tugged at the zip, it simply wouldn't move.

Laughing she said. "Sit down Gareth, let me do it."

The traffic was easier as they turned into Holloway Road, in Islington and they picked up speed, bowling along at about twenty miles per hour. Marcia leaned across and undid his belt. Then holding the top of the trousers and pulling the front of them tight, she was able to slip the zip down quite easily.

"See it just needs a woman's touch," she said as they hit yet another traffic hold up at Archway station.

"Yes Marcia that is exactly what IT needs," he replied putting the emphasis pointedly on the it.

"IT?" Marcia asked with equal emphasis, smiling.

"Yes Marcia, IT, fucking IT."

"Well then I suppose IT should get a woman's touch shouldn't IT!" Marcia said softly as they pulled across the junction.

"Jesus, Marcia, that's fucking brilliant," Gareth groaned as Marcia's fingers closed round his erection. "Oh shit sorry," he went on, slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front.

'He's got a nice dick' Marcia was thinking as she eased it out of his trousers. It was gorgeously hard, nice and smooth, fairly long and encouraging thick. It was very warm and she could feel it throbbing. She closed her hand round it, gripped it lightly and ran up and down its length, slowly.

"Oh yes, that's great."

"So IT likes the woman's touch does it Gareth?" she asked as the car once more came to a halt in heavy traffic around Swiss Cottage.

"Does it? IT loves it," he replied, leaning forward a little and reaching out with his left hand.

"Good," Marcia muttered, enjoying touching his cock and the sheer sordidness of what she was doing. She momentarily wondered whether she could go down on him and give him a blow job, but guessed the steering wheel would prevent that.

Gareth got his hand on Marcia's leg, just above her knee. She had smooth, tanned skin. She liked the feel of his warm hand on her. He started moving up wards. 'I'll fuckingwell find out about those panties now,' he thought as the side of his brushed against the hem of her skirt. Just then, the lights changed and he had to change gear so he had to move his hand away. Marcia though kept rubbing his cock. Not too hard so that it would make him cum, but firmly enough for him to feel it. 

"You've done this before, you're fucking great," he grunted.

"Not in a Porsche," she smiled, adding, "It's too fucking cramped."

"So if it's too cramped for this, I guess it's no good for a fuck either is it?"

"Not a chance."

"I'll have to get a Rangerover then."

"Ah now you're talking," Marcia said, giving his dick a hard squeeze.

They stopped again. Gareth was desperate to find out whether she had anything under the skirt. It had been short when Marcia was standing, laid out almost flat as she had to be in the low-slung car, with her legs bent a little and her body turned slightly to one side, it was miniscule. He put his hand on her leg again; it felt great. He slid it upwards, almost to the hem, but again he had to change gears. 'Fucking manual shift cars,' he thought, vowing in future to get automatics that were big enough to fuck in.

Going along the Finchley Road, they picked up speed a bit, so Gareth had no chance to try to find out. In any case, Marcia had guessed what he wanted to do; she was usually one-step ahead of her lovers.

As they stopped again, now near to Hampstead, he tried once more. This time they were still for some time. Long enough for Gareth to get his hand on Marcia's leg, long enough for him to slide it upwards and long enough for him to reach the hem of her skirt. It felt good. Marcia was aroused, she got that way quite easily, particularly when she was in an exciting situation such as this and especially when she had a cock in her hand. She was tempted to let him go on. It would be so nice to feel his hand on her pussy, pressure on her clit or fingers up her cunt. The sheer outrageousness of the idea of lying back in the seat, her knees bent, legs drawn and wide open, perhaps one wrapped round the gear stick the other pressed against the leather dashboard, had a very strong appeal. Being finger fucked as they drove up Haverstock Hill, played to her sense of extreme sex. 

The time they stopped at the lights by Hampstead station was long enough for all of that to happen. It was also long enough for Marcia to grab his wrist.

"Now, now, what do you think you are doing?"

Gareth was now frustrated. He had a vile temper and lost it quite easily. He was used to getting his way and getting what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to shove his hand up Marcia's skirt and see if she was wearing knickers and she was stopping him

"I am trying to get my fucking hand up your fucking skirt, what it's look like I'm trying to do?"

She smiled. "I had gathered that Gareth and do you know what I am doing?"

"Yes, fuckingwell stopping me," he moaned struggling to free his hand.

"Well, big boy, if you look at the traffic you'll see why."

"Oh shit," he grunted shoving his foot down and changing up to second.

"I only wanted to find out if you were wearing anything under that sexy skirt."

"Ah well Gareth, sometimes you don't always get what you want do you?"

"Too fucking true," he said as they drove across the Heath and into Frognall. 

"How about we stop somewhere, we're quite close to where you live aren't we?

"Stop on the Heath"?

"Yes, it's nice and dark," he said pushing his still splendidly hard cock against the palm of Marcia's hand.

"You must be crazy, it's full of gays, rampant ones as well, it's not safe. No, take me home.

Following her instructions, he wiggled the car through the narrow streets.

"Turn left here and pull into the second set of gates on the left."

He stopped the car on the short gravel drive, thankfully he thought a little out of sight from the house. Leaving the engine running, he put his arm round Marcia, pulled her towards him and kissed her, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth. 

"I've wanted to do that since the moment I saw you at Amanda's earlier on."

"Good, it was nice," she replied taking his face in her hands and plastering little kisses all round his lips and chin.

He pressed his left hand against her breast, finding and pinching her right nipple as once more he put his hand on her leg and started moving it upwards. She grabbed his wrist.

"What's the matter?" Gareth asked.

"As odd as it might seem to you Gareth, I don't like being touched up in my driveway in front of my own house."

"Oh right sorry."

"So Gareth you are going to see what you said you would love see."

"What's that?"

"Me getting out of this fucking ridiculous car."

And with remarkable agility, almost total decorum and, from Gareth's perspective, undue haste, that is exactly what she did.

Chapter 3

Unless they had anything special on, such as going to a Grand Prix, almost anywhere in Europe, a big football match at Spurs or Arsenal, a wedding or Bar Mitvah or something very special, Gareth and a group of his cronies usually spent their Sundays getting stoned and/or drunk.

He had bought a luxurious flat in St John's Wood, which was fairly convenient to the City where he worked as a trader, but more importantly was close to the posh restaurants and clubs of London's West End that he and his fellow city boys frequented.

"I tell you it was the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen." Gareth was slurring to his mates the following Sunday.

"What was?" One of them asked.

"Marcia's arse."

"How do you mean? You didn't see it in the car did you?"

"No, but she asked me in."

"Bloody hell."

"Yes, Stephen, her husband was away on some fucking conference or convention or some piss up junket."

"You jammy bastard."

"That's moi," Gareth replied taking a big slug of Stolly.

"So, come on what happened?"

"Well like some fucking Russian gymnast Marcia was up and out of the Porsche without flashing anything, these posh birds can do that."

"Yeah they're trained that way, look at Princess Di when she was alive and got out of cars. You didn't see either her tits or her knickers, more's the pity."




The Power of Clothing Pt. 12



"I still had me flies undone and dick out so I could hardly get out the car could I? I undid the window and she leaned in. I'd have got a right eyeful of her tits if she had any as she had a little pink sweater on that gaped marvellously."

"You'd already had a feel though hadn't you?"

"Yep and now I saw her nips, quite nice too. So I asked "What time will Stephen be home?" She replied, "He won't, he's away for the night." I said "Really?" and Marcia replied. "Yes, why, would you like to come in?" As if there was a chance in a million I wouldn't."

"She's certainly some bird."

"She's fucking amazing. She's been playing with me dick in the car for about and hour and then sounds surprised when I want to go in her house. Anyway, I was out of the Porsche in a flash, doing me flies up on the way. Of course, I would, what do you think? I asked her whipping round the car and taking hold of her elbow."

Gareth took another slug of vodka, looking around at his 'adoring public.' Although he was one of the youngest there, he was undoubtedly the leader. That stemmed from his spectacular success at trading, where, just in his second year, he was already making megabucks in salary and bonuses, the only figures that count for anything in the city.

"So, things hotting up then," one of them said as another added.

"Gareth coming up trumps again."

"Anyway I walked alongside her across the driveway then up the short, cobbled path to the front door. She opened it and walked in ahead of me. The lights were all on. I asked why and she replied, "We have some staff, they put them on." I said isn't that a little dodgy and she asked "What?" I said well having me here with the staff. She replied, "Well they don't actually come into where we are going, follow me."

"Bloody cool then," one of the gang asked.

"As fucking ice," Gareth replied.

"So where did you have to follow her, into the lounge or kitchen for a drink?"

"No fucking way, I told you she was cool. We were standing in the hall facing each other when she said follow me. Then as cool as anything she turned and walked away from me to the stairs. I followed right away. Like in old houses, this is Georgian by the way." 

"What's that then, Georgian?" One of Gareth's mates earning well in excess of two hundred thousand pound for gambling with our money asked?

"Dunno, old I guess," Gareth offered.

One of the quieter members of the group who had a degree and was quite bright, but earned less than a hundred grand said. "It refers to stuff built while several Kings called George were on the throne, between seventeen hundred and something and the early eighteen hundreds."

"Alright fucking smartarse."

"Well you did ask."

"Anyway who gives a fuck when it was built, what you going on about that for Gal?"

"Because, if you'll listen and shut up, I was gonna say, like many old houses it had a narrow staircase. Marcia started up the stairs and I followed her."

"Oh I see the point now."

"Right but what you don't see dickhead was what I saw."

"And what did you see?"

"Just about the sexiest fucking sight I have ever seen."

"Go on then, what was it?"

"Swaying from side to side just ahead of my face was Marcia's arse."

"What in the skirt, how short was it?"

"Fucking short. From below and behind it looked as though it didn't even cover her arse and you know what?"

"What? Go on."

"There were no panties or knickers; she was stark bollock naked under the skirt, just as she had been at the party."

"So what did you see?"

"Everything, the lot, all she had."

"Fucking hell."

"It was that and more. Her hips were sort of rolling from side to side. She had the sexiest fucking wiggle and her arse was swaying just in front of my eyes. I could see each cheek, her crease and the lips of her cunt as she raised one foot in front of the other."

"You lucky, jammy bastard."

"She walked up the stairs very slowly; she knew exactly what she was doing the sexy bitch. She made sure I got a good look."

"And I bet, you dirty bastard, you did have a good look."

"Of course I fucking did, what you think I am stupid. With the arse and cunt of this older woman just in front of me, I'd got me hard on back again. I was fucking rigid."

"How old is she?"

"Err not sure, mid thirties."

"Mmm, fucking great, I love older women."

"You had any?"

"Well no, but I love the fucking idea of fucking one."

"Why what's the appeal, I expect their cunts are all loose, give me a young bird with a tight snatch any time," Boggsy said.

Gareth said in a worldly-wise manner as if he'd had loads of older women. "It's their experience, Boggsy, it's all that fucking they've had in the past, they've got no hang ups like young chicks."

"Yeah I guess so."

"Anyway we got to the top and she didn't stop, say anything or even look at me."

"So what the fuck did she do?"

"She walked across this landing her hands fiddling at her waist. As she opened a door and walked through it so she started pushing her skirt down."

"Bloody hell, that must have been amazing."

"It was. Slowly the waistband went up the swell of her bum and over each cheek until I could see all of her crack. She had a fucking tight bum I can tell you. She stopped for a moment with me behind her staring at her bum. She let go of it and it fell down her legs to the ground. She stepped out of it."

"Hadn't she said anything?"

"Up until then, not a fucking word since about following her."

"Jesus."

"She did then, though."

"What. What the fuck did she say? She was standing just in her sweater was she?"

"And high heels."

"Oh my fucking Lord, so what did she say then?"

"Well she looked right into me fucking eyes, smiled and said "Oh dear Gareth, it looks as though I've forgotten something doesn't it?"

They all laughed.

"Some cocky bitch eh?"

"So what did you say?"

"Actually, I was fucking nervous; I admit I was a bit out my depth."

"You nervous Gal?"

"Yes, other than a couple of hookers and some bird I pulled in Spain, I hadn't been with an older woman and certainly not one like her. I mean she's as rich as God, her husband's a top doctor or something and she's so fucking sexy, I wasn't sure how to handle things."

"Yeah I guess I see what you mean."

"I do as well, it's easy talking about what you're going to do with a bird, but when its just you and her, it gets kinda awkward don't it?"

"Well it did then, for remember she's my dad and his bird's friend as well."

"Yeah of course."

"Anyway I mumbled something about how nice that was and she said, "It seems to happen, particularly when you're around doesn't it Gareth?" I replied, lucky me then. She said "Yes I guess you are, want to get luckier."

"What did she mean?"

"I hadn't a fucking clue when she asked that, but said, yes please. What do you think she did?"

"Dunno."

"Have a guess, Bloggsy?"

"Rubbed her pussy?"

"Nope, Stu?"

"Got your cock out again?"

"No, come on Ox?"

"Er said, want to fuck me?"

"Nope. She was still looking at me when I'd said yes please. She smiled, reached down got hold of the pink sweater and in one movement whipped it off."

"Fucking style that."

"What a bird you lucky sod."

"What did she do then?"

"Well I went to move towards her, you know kiss her or something, but she turned away, almost ignoring me."

"Fuck, bloody cheek."

"No, she's just so fucking sophisticated. She knows what she wants and fuck everyone else. Don't arf keep you on your toes; you got no idea where you are with her."

"So where were you with her then Gal? What did she do?"

"Went and laid down on the bed and said, "You can get undressed now?"

"So what, you had to strip off as she looked on did you?"

"Yes."

"Fuck, I'd hate that."

"It was odd, I don't usually like the bird leading the way or telling me what to do."

"No, nor me."

"But you know, with Marcia, her being older and experienced and all that, it didn't matter."

"What, you didn't mind her being in control?"

"No, it was good."

"So did you?"

"What?"

"Undress."

"Yes of course."

"How was it? Was it ok?"

"Actually, it was fucking brilliant."

Chapter 4

'He really has got quite a good body,' Marcia was thinking as she watched Gareth undress. 'Mmmm bigger than his dad,' she thought seeing the erection she'd fondled earlier in the car. With his clothes still on his cock hadn't seemed as large as it was now. 'Not donkey size,' she smiled, her fingers idly finding her nipple and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, 'But ample for what I need.'

"Come and lay down here Gareth," she said, patting the bed beside her and turning onto her side.

She felt great pressed up against him. Thin and overly slim to his normal taste, it was more the way that Marcia writhed against him than anything else that made having her in his arms so spectacular. Marcia squirmed herself against his erection, which seemed to fill neatly and fully the gap between her pubic mound and her navel.

With a new lover, Marcia always worked on the basis that she wanted to captivate him, or her. That she wanted to make that person adore her, become hers, become dependent upon her and to fall for her; she craved being loved and adored. 

As a result, she really went for it, particularly the first few times she had sex with them. 

Gareth got the full weight and more of this. He was amazed at the totally uninhibited way that Marcia's hands roamed his body, squeezing the cheeks of his bum, pinching his nipples, stroking his cock and cupping his balls. As she did this, she squirmed her body against his and kissed him with a depth and passion he hadn't experienced before. 

She used everything she had: lips, teeth, tongue, mouth, hands, fingers, nipples, thighs, knees and her pubic mound. All were sexual instruments, all gave pleasure, all were used to excite. And excite they did. Gareth had never been used or pleased as much as this.

"I'm going to fuck you Gareth as you've never been fucked before," she said, kneeling beside him.

A part of him wanted to stop her. She was taking over, real men, and certainly not macho city boys didn't' let women do that. Men were supposed to run things, be in charge and dominate the weaker women. That wasn't happening here though and that upset the normal balance of things between a city trader and a piece of cunt he was going to fuck. 

Unexpectedly to him, though, he was enjoying it. He liked her leading him, doing things first, being the aggressor, the dominant one. He liked Marcia rubbing his cock, stroking his balls and sucking his nipples. He liked her hands on his bum and her fingers in his crease. He liked it a lot, maybe too much for he was feeling perhaps a little too excited.

"Oh fuck Marcia, slow down."

"What's the matter Gareth?"

"Nothing. Nothing its fine," he lied as she straddled him.

"Oh my God," he groaned as she reached behind her and grabbed his cock 'She really is gonna fuck me' he realised as Marcia held his erection against her lips.

"Ready, big boy?" She asked easing herself down a bit.

"Oh fuck."

"Does that mean yes?" Marcia asked, letting her body sink downwards and taking Gareth's cock deep into her open and eager cunt.

"No," he moaned as they both felt his cock exploding and shooting his cum all over her in a stream of premature ejaculation.

Chapter 5

"I got undressed right in front of her. I had this giant hard on. "Oh yes Gareth, that's just what I want, you look so big" She said as I got on the bed."

"She was ready then?"

"Fuck me was she?"

"So how did you fuck her?"

"Well first time I."

"Ooooo get you first time, was there more?"

"I didn't fucking leave until two I had her three times."

"You fucking machine."

"I certainly was that night. First time on her back with her legs over my shoulders, then I spooned and then we did it doggy, it was bloody brilliant."

"And all really," Boggsy said, "Because she didn't wear knickers at the housewarming party.



The Power of Clothing Pt. 13



There are few garments of clothing that have such sexual power as stockings: black, seemed, fishnet, long holdups or whatever, they all arouse and excite. Even women!

*

Chapter 1

Sammi had never felt such a beautiful coming together of her emotional and physical needs. She had never experienced such a combination of feelings and sensations. Never before had her mental state so coincided with her physical needs in such an awesomely satisfying and pleasurable manner. Tenderness, caring, sensitivity, being wanted, being needed, belonging, giving and taking, were all there. The feelings went deeper than liking and fancying, maybe they bordered on, or were, love! Every sexually sensitive part of her body was aflame, every inch of her skin was tingling, her breasts felt so full and heavy and her nipples ached with need. It was like one continuous, ongoing orgasm that increased in intensity with time. 

It hadn't been like this when she lost her virginity, nor during her two brief love affairs. It also hadn't been anything like this when she and her half-brother Gareth had had sex several times. But she was feeling this amazing amalgam of feelings now, in a threesome with her friends, Claire and Greg.

Chapter 2

Immediately Claire broached the subject, Sammi's mind went back to a long, slightly drunken conversation Claire and she had had just before Sammi finished at uni. a year or so ago. 

"I think she's absolutely gorgeous," Claire had said as they watched Helen Mirren in a film on TV.

Greg, Claire's thirty five year old partner was out for the evening, and Sammi and she had been out to dinner. They had 'staggered' back to Claire and Greg's tiny cottage in town near to the university where Sammi was just completing her finals. They had become friends after meeting in cafe where Sammi sometimes went to study. Claire had a degree in English from London. As Sammi was also studying English they had an instant interest in common. From that, their friendship had grown and now included Claire's partner Greg. Sammi occasionally went to dinner at the cottage, the three of them would now and then go out, for Sammi didn't have a boy friend, although both Greg and Claire had offered to 'fix her up' many times, and both of them had visited Sammi at her parent's house in Essex.

Although there was an eight-year age gap between them, Claire and Sammi had always got on very well. "Just like sisters," Claire's mum had said when she met Sammi. Apart from Sammi's, almost natural long, blonde hair, they were similar. Claire had shoulder-length, brown hair with natural auburn tints. They were about the same height, both were slim, size tens, with b to c cup boobs, trim waists, flat tums, nice legs and great bums. 'Two fantastic packages,' Greg had once described them.

"I do too, her and Susan Sarandon are two of my favourite film stars," Sammi had replied.

"Yes I think both are fantastic."

"They're both very ready it seems to get their kit off," Sammi said smiling.

"Well they have got the bodies for that, haven't they?"

"Yes, did you see the photos of Helen in that red bikini?" Sammi asked

"Mmmm, yes and she's sixty you know."

"And I guess SS must be about the same."

Claire paused for a moment as refilled their glasses. "Have you ever seen Hunger?"

"No what's that?"

"A film with Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve."

"How old is it?"

"It must ten or fifteen years, Catherine is a vampire."

"What like Dracula?"

"Sort of, but much more subtle than that," Claire explained.

"I'm not really into that sort of stuff," Sammi explained."

"Oh it wasn't that which made me ask."

"What was it then?"

"It was talking about their bodies, you see rather a lot of hers in it."

"I saw quite a lot in White Tower, I think it was called, she seduces a young guy, very sexy."

"In Hunger she's the one who gets seduced." Claire advised.

"Oh who by?"Sammmi asked.

"Catherine Deneuve."

"Oh are they lesbians then?"

"No not at all, they both just enjoy sex. It's probably the most erotic scene I have ever seen in a film. Watch it on youtube."

"Ok I will, for sure," Sammi said making a mental to do so.

"You ever done anything like that Sam?" Claire asked.

"What with another woman?"

"Yes."

"No I haven't, have you?"

"Yes when I was at uni, nothing serious or heavy."

"I often think about what it would be like though," Sam told her, before they heard Greg's key in the lock and they changed the subject.

Chapter 3.

Sammi had been a slow starter with sex. For no particular reason and certainly not because she was a prude, she had hung on to her cherry until well into her nineteenth year. Losing it hadn't seemed that big a deal and the occasion was certainly nothing that special. Shortly after that, she went to university in Bristol and wasn't that active there either, having only two brief affairs, both with older guys. So, by the age of twenty one, she had only had full sex with three men.

Since her twenty first birthday party just over a year ago, things had changed massively. And she put a lot of that down to wearing stockings. Why? She wasn't sure, but they seemed to do something to her. She wore them under her long ball-gown at her party and she was sure they were the main reason that she and Gareth had full sex that night. She wore them at her graduation when she ended up being fucked by one of her ex tutors. And when she had worn them other times she always seemed to get laid.

Her first taste of sex with Gareth had, coincidentally, been at her eighteenth birthday party. There, he had fingered her to a climax, although at the time, she wasn't completely sure what they were. In the subsequent three years, they had gone further. Sammi had masturbated him, he had sucked her nipples and several times they had both been naked, but they hadn't fucked. That happened, though, at her twenty-first when he had worked out she was wearing stockings. It had been repeated several times since, even though both of them were critically aware of the problems for they both had the same father, Kevin, but different mothers.

As Sammi's interest in, and experience of sex increased during her twenty second year, so she found herself becoming curious about sex with other females. She had thought about it a lot for some time and being a blonde haired, blue eyed beauty, she had been propositioned many times, with several of these being whilst she was at university, including one from a lecturer. She had turned them all down. Again, she was not quite sure why, for she was hellishly curious, and she didn't really have a moral issue with same gender sex. Probably just circumstances and the dykie old birds that had tried it on she smiled ruefully whenever she though about it. She was aware, though, that just as had she had been with Gareth, she was primed for it and felt that sooner or later it would happen. No rush though.

Chapter 3.

She opened her legs wider. He reached behind his legs and grabbed her ankles. Yanking them upward he pushed them over his shoulders. He then surged harder and faster into his wife's stretched and gaping hole.

"That's what you want isn't it?" He asked.

"Yes, I want it deep."

"You want a deep, long fuck don't you?"

"Yes," she grunted back loving the ease with which her partner's cock slid up and down inside her. She was so wet.

He proceeded to shag her with long deep thrusts. Each surge into her sending shudders of sexual delight through her slim, but nicely rounded body and creating those glorious 'male' feelings in his balls and cock.

Sex between lovers can be so wonderful.

"Harder, fuck me harder."

He slammed himself up her as firmly as he could both of them delighting in his balls slapping against her arse. 

"Are you near?" He asked, holding himself stiff and rigid deeply inside her.

"Yes."

"Then wait," he said pushing himself up and supporting his body with his straightened arms.

Greg liked looking at Claire as he made her cum. He loved the way she tightly closed her eyes, opened her mouth, ran her tongue over her lips and lolled her head from side to side. He liked see the beads of perspiration on her face, the way her hair fell over her face, how hard her little nipples got and the way her breasts wobbled as the tremors of sensation ripped through her. She orgasmed quite easily and tonight was no exception.

He watched fascinated as she held her own breasts, squeezed them and pinched and pulled her nipples.

"Make me cum now," she groaned. "Shoot your cum in me."

Rolling her head from side to side, moaning and groaning, grunting and sighing Claire started to climax. The shudders going through her body caused her to contract and let go of his cock with her cunt muscles, which together with two more slow deep thrusts was enough for Greg. He exploded inside her and fell down on her.

She was snuggled up to him. His arm was round her shoulders and her head was resting on his chest. He was holding her breast, she was running her fingers down his flat stomach into the tighter curls of his pubic hairs at the base of his cock. They were both still wet with the secretions of their sexual pleasures.

It was at times like these that they talked about sex. They exchanged past experiences and touched on their fantasies. They were both sexually pretty liberated and adventurous. They were sexually ambitious and wanted more experiences. That's why they had been swinging, twice, one time unfortunately being more unsuccessful than the other.

"I want to see you with another woman," Greg had said several times in the past and repeated it now.

"I know." Claire replied.

Several times before, he had asked Claire to tell him about her 'girly affairs' as she called the two flings she'd had at uni. Each time she had, he'd almost instantly got hard and they'd had sex for the second time far more quickly than usual. As with many men, Greg had a fascination with girl on girl action. 

Claire had so far not agreed to going with another girl as he watched, but equally she hadn't said totally no. Whilst she couldn't quite get her head round the practical details of firstly, finding and then propositioning another girl and then secondly, arranging things so Greg could watch, she had to admit the idea excited her. She had enjoyed her bi adventures and had always thought that one day she would have more. She knew she wasn't fully bisexual, whatever that is, as she equally knew that having sexual pleasure with a sister certainly was not, and did not lead to, being lesbian. The feeling of her partner's's lovely cock in her hand and the wondrous feelings it had just given her attested to that.

She nibbled his nipple, a little too hard.

"Ouch," Greg said, "That hurt, you vicious minx," he said giving her bum a light smack. "If you're not careful I'll put you over my knee."

"Always promising aren't you? All words and no action."

"Would you like me to spank you?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, maybe some time."

"The trouble is Claire we'd probably laugh."

"Yes that's true it's all a bit contrived isn't it?"

"Yes, not like you and another girl."

"Would you want to join in, Greg?"

"Not sure, what would you think?"

"I'm not sure either."

They were silent for a while as they both thought about what Greg had been saying. Claire lifted her head and kissed Greg, fully on the lips. At the same time she stroked his balls, she knew he liked that. She was rewarded by feeling some movement in his cock.

In a rather coquettish tone Claire said. "What about me with another man, would you like to see that?"

"No," was his immediate reply. "What about me with another woman?"

"Would you like to do that?"

"What shag another woman?"

"Yes as I watched."

He was in the typical male Catch 22 here, on a loser whichever way he went. He had been faithful to Claire as she had to him since they had become a number some ten years ago.

"I really don't know Claire."

"Ok let me make it easier. If I said I really don't mind, would you like to then?"

"I dunno, I really don't," Greg said keeping his thoughts to himself for, in reality, he would love to do that.

"Ok let's say I picked the girl and introduced you to her?"

"Claire this daft and bloody unfair."

"You started it."

"Yes I know."

"Ok let me go further." She said, now eagerly stroking his growing erection.

Greg couldn't work out what she was getting at and put it down to their conversation just drifting. 'Interesting though,' he thought, enjoying the feel of his wife getting him hard and her breast in his hand.

"How do you mean go further?"

Claire paused, partly for effect, but also to make sure she really wanted to say what was in her mind.

"Go on then," Greg said.

"Ok, what would you say if the other girl was Sammi?"

"Fuck off Claire," he reacted, "Stop pissing about."

"What if it was Sammi lying on our bed, just dressed in the black stockings she wore at the graduation."

"Jesus, was she wearing stockings?"

"Yes, and the next day when that bastard David D fucked her in them."

"Would you like to fuck her in them Greg?" She asked, knowing full well the answer for what was in her hand gave her that. She squeezed his now full erection. "Is this your answer?"

"Oh fuck this is so unfair."

"Good fun though isn't it?

"Yes."

"Ok then, big boy, now you are good and ready, why don't you fuck me again and don't imagine you're fucking Sammi will you?"

Chapter 4

"Greg's going to meet us at the restaurant, we're going to Harvey's, which you know is just round the corner," Claire was saying to Sammi on the phone.

"Bit posh isn't it? Is it a frock job then?"

"I think so don't you? It's quite nice to dress up a bit now and then, and it is a sort of special occasion isn't it Sammi?"

"Not a sort of Claire, a bloody stupendously, big occasion in my book."

Claire laughed.

"I mean it luv," Sammi went on. "After all it's not often a girl gets shagged by her best friend and her partner in one night is? To me that is a very big occasion."

"I know darling and it will be for us. Greg's had an almost permanent stiffy since I told him it was on."

Claire had broached the subject to Sammi a couple of weeks ago. 

She had previously told her how Greg sometimes asked her to dress up in sexy undies; sussie belts, stockings, basques and waspies and even crutchless panties and half cup bras. She had also told Sammi that at times her relationship with Greg needed to be perked up. 

Claire was staying with Sammi at her mother, Amanda, and father, Kevin's house in a London suburb in Essex. She was there to do some early Christmas shopping. They had plenty of time to talk and again, somehow, in Sammi's view, but purposefully in Claire's, after they had eaten a delivered Thai meal and drunk a bottle of Kevin's Premier Cru Chablis, the topic was girl to girl sex.

"Did you ever watch that film Hunger, that I told you about?" Claire had, quite innocently at first, asked.

Sammi said she hadn't. 

"Like to watch a youtube clip now?" Claire suggested.

"Sure, but we'd better go to my room as mum or dad could walk in here any moment," Sammi advised.

They went into the suite over the garage and pool changing rooms where Sammi had a bedroom, bathroom and study. 

Sammi had never watched much porn, just the odd clip here and there, and had seen no real erotic material on film. Nevertheless, she sat transfixed as the gorgeous Susan Sarandon asked the equally gorgeous Catherine Deneuve if she was trying to seduce her? She was even more transfixed when Catherine did just that. As the stupendous, classical music filled the room and as Susan undressed and laid on the bed, her beautiful breasts bare, Sammi felt her body reacting, very strongly. Claire, as always when she watched this scene and she and Greg did that regularly, became very aroused; she imagined herself on that bed with one or both of them.

"I see what you mean," Sammi said as the laptop stopped after reaching the end of the clip.

"Is that erotic or what?" Claire asked.

"I have never seen anything like it," Sammi replied.

"And it can be like that."

"Really can it?" Sammi said, flustered and confused.

"Yes Sammi," Claire said placing her fingers lightly on the back of her younger friend's hand.

They looked at each other.

"Can I ask you something terribly personal Sammi?"

"Yes, of course Claire."

"Well you know I said Greg and I need things from time to time to spice up our relationship?"

"Yes, as I imagine most do."

"Well we do and we want to try a threesome Sammi," she blurted out, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Sammi was still aroused, confused and somewhat flustered, so she didn't work out what was inevitably coming next

"Really?" She said totally nonplussed and non-commital.

"Yes Sammi and we would like you to be the third person in it with Greg and me."

Chapter 5.

Sammi was wearing a black, just above the knee, sheath dress which had gilt buttons all the way up the front. Several buttons were undone so she was showing an interesting amount of flesh and, for her breast size, a very respectable cleavage; 'It's a wonder what good bras can do?' She often thought. Around her neck, she had one of those modern multi-strand necklaces with what looked like little silver leaves hanging on it. She was wearing a wide, black belt, which emphasised the narrowness of her waist and the womanly flair of her hips. She had left the bottom three buttons of the dress undone, so that when she was seated and crossed her legs, it rode up and fell apart. A close inspection of her legs would have almost, but not quite seen the darker band that held her self-support, fishnet, seamed stockings in place.

Claire was wearing a stunning red dress. It had a halter neck that gaped when she leaned forward, was pinched in tight at the waist and flared out down the knee-length skirt. She was also wearing one of those fashionable 'big' necklaces and diamond stud earrings, which Greg had bought her to celebrate their ten years together. She had beige, suede, peek a boo high heels on which had a thin ankle strap. Just above that, Sammi was pleased to see, there was some wrinkles, which were the give away that she too was wearing stockings, white ones. Claire usually wore her hair in a pony-tail, but tonight it was piled up on her head with ringlets falling down her face and neck. It looked lovely. 

"Bloody hell, look at you two," Greg said giving them both a peck on the cheek when he joined them. He was wearing a dark blue, open neck shirt, a beige jacket, blue, linen trousers, tan loafers and bo socks. He looked good.

'I am going to make love to Claire and be fucked by Greg,' were the words that kept going through Sammi's mind as they ate the disappointing dinner. None of them could relax.

"Maybe we should have eaten at home?" Claire said as Greg paid the bill and they left after just an hour or so.

"Perhaps," Greg said as they walked the less than quarter of a mile to the cottage. They said little more, they were each feeling the tension in different ways.

Although Claire had been the main promoter of this, she was far from sure she was doing the right thing. Mixing friendship with sex can be very dangerous even when the sex is straightforward, like shagging a mate. When it is as complicated as what they were going to do there was so many areas where problems could arise. Would she be jealous when Greg made love to Sammi? Who would she be jealous of, also occurred to her? How would she feel making love to Sammi as he watched, would she be able to, even? How would Greg choose who to shag first, would there be a meaning if he chose Sammi and would Sammi feel left out if he chose her? God, the complications had been increasing and becoming more complicated ever since Sammi's reply to her question, "Will you be?" had been, after a suitable thinking time. "Yes Claire, I will."




The Power of Clothing Pt. 13



Greg had initially been elated and hugely aroused when Claire said. 

"Yes Greg, I will make love to another woman as you watch." 

As he had also thought about the potential problems when she had explained that the other woman would be Sammi, so his elation fell somewhat. He was still very excited about seeing Claire and Sammi together and, in theory, extremely aroused at the prospect of having sex with Sammi, who he had fancied ever since they had met. As with most men, the idea of a threesome had tremendous initial appeal, but the potential problems and issues troubled him. How much enjoyment could he show when he and Sammi had sex? Might he actually be jealous when he watched his wife make love to her best friend? It was the aftermath that worried him most. It was all very well having a night of threesome sex, but he and Claire would have to confront what went on that night for the rest of their lives. That might be a good confrontation, but if things went wrong, it might have awful repercussions. He could even now here Claire saying. 'You enjoyed fucking Sammi more than me.' 

The other, less significant and more 'technical' worry, was how do you actually go about a threesome? Should he kiss Claire, then turn to Sammi? Should he shag one completely until he climaxed then make the other wait at least half an hour or should he alternate, a few thrusts in Claire then several in Sammi? How would it work with protection? Claire was on the pill and he always went 'bareback' with her, how would that work with Sammi? God, it was so bloody complicated he had a few times thought of saying to Claire to forget it. The thought, though, of seeing Sammi and Claire having sex and then shagging the young blonde, were so appealing, though, he didn't.

Watching that scene from The Hunger with Claire had been one of the most erotic experiences of Sammi's life. Seeing Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve making such spectacular love seemed to capture everything she felt. They were not, to her, lesbian, not even bi, to Sammi it was just sheer beautiful sex. A sex the like of which she had never experienced. It had been watching that, which had made her so receptive to Claire's advance to her, both for sex together and for the threesome. But, she was also concerned about what might happen later. Just what would it be like having sex with, not merely a woman, but her best friend Claire? Would it ruin the friendship? What would they be like when they met after? Might they become full on lovers, with or without Greg being involved? How would it work in the future, would they kiss and fondle when they met? She was relatively relaxed about sex with Greg. She liked him and had he not been Claire's partner, she probably would have fancied him, but you don't do that with a best friend's partner do you? She was, though, concerned at how she would feel watching Greg shag Claire, what would she do? Do you just lie there or what? She had no idea.

Laughing, nervously, Greg asked. "Wine ladies or, maybe something a little stronger such as a Cognac?" They were standing in the kitchen, they had entered by the back door, of the cottage. "It might give us more courage?"

"Why do we need that?" Claire asked. 

No one replied, it wasn't necessary. 

"Actually yes Greg I will have a brandy," Claire said, "Sammi?"

"Yes ok, why not?

"Come on let's go into the lounge," Claire said opening the door to the compact, nicely furnished almost square room.

"Wow," Sammi said looking across the room. There were several candles dotted around casting a low and very romantic light. Their sweetish aroma and the line of nightlight- sized candles leading up the open staircase and onto the landing leading to the bedrooms added to the strongly erotic look and feel of the room.

"That's a clever boy," Claire said raising her brandy snifter to her partner who had obviously set it up after they had left.

Claire walked over to the four-seater, green leather Chesterfield. She sat one end and patted the middle part. "Sammi you sit here." After slipping his jacket off, Greg sat the other side. Sammi's pulse was racing and heart was beating, she felt very nervous. As usual, she tried joking her way out of it.

"What meat in the sandwich am I?" She asked them.

Claire put her hand on Sammi's arm and smiling said. "No luv, more like in for a roasting," using the modern term for two men having sex with a girl, but adding. "With a slight difference of course."

Greg also feeling and sounding hellishly nervous joined in. "Let's just hope the meat's more tender."

They sat in a line on the sofa, sipping their cognacs, which Greg refreshed, for a few moments, with each of them probably wondering just how the evening and night would pan out. In fact, Both Claire and Greg were also wondering just how the hell do you start a threesome? Claire, though did have a plan.

She clicked the remote control and the thirty-six inch plasma on the screen opposite lit up. One of the soaps came on. She fiddled with the remote control and leaned over the arm of the sofa. Sammi saw some messages on the screen indicating it was interfacing with a pc. The screen flickered for a moment or two and then the beautiful face of Susan Sarandon filled the screen.

"Oh my God," Sammi said.

"Ok Sam?" Claire asked holding her friend's hand.

"Oh yes, Claire yes, she breathed, her eyes taking in every detail on the screen.

She watched and listened with mounting excitement and anticipation as Catherine Deneuve played the piano to Susan who was seated, drinking a glass of red wine. Sammi had watched the clip several times since Claire had introduced her to it. So powerfully did it affect her, she had masturbated each time she watched it.

"Is that a love song?" She heard Dr Sarah Roberts, Susan, ask Mrs Miriam Blaylock, Catherine.

"Does it sound like one?" Catherine replied.

"Yes," Susan said quietly

"Then it is one."

Sammi waited the moment or two for Susan to ask one of the most erotic questions ever posed in a film, well certainly in her experience.

As she posed the question, "Are you making a pass at me Mrs Blaylock?" she felt Claire squeeze her hand. Involuntarily, yet with meaning, Sammi squeezed back.

Catherine's cool reply was one of the most amazing acts of underplaying one's hand there could be.

"Miriam, my name's Miriam."

It was then that Susan Sarandon spilled the red wine onto her white top. The way the camera zoomed into her left breast with the stain on its top and showed the rise of her nipple inside the material was fantastic. It implied so much. That she was aroused, of course, that she was interested, probably and that she was naked under the top, certainly. Catherine moved away, the stalker circling her prey. As their gazes met and the good doctor Sarah Roberts, Susan Sarandson, turned away from her temptress and towards the camera, Sammi felt Claire running her other hand up her bare arm as they continued squeezing each other's hands. As Susan took hold of the bottom of her white top, she felt Greg's hand on hers. He squeezed that and she squeezed back.

"Oh Christ," Sammi involuntarily groaned as Susan lifted the white top upwards, baring her breasts to the camera, but not to her potential lover, Catherine. 

It was at this point that Sammi usually started to masturbate. This evening, though, that wasn't possible, but Claire had cleverly created the same needs in her friend.

"Jesus," Greg whispered, also squeezing Sammi's hand quite tightly, as the camera focused on Susan Sarandon's shapely breasts and erect nipples.

As the scene ended so Claire whispered. "Shall we all go upstairs?"

She pressed pause, knowing that the other control in the bedroom would start it up again for it was programmed and ready, waiting for Claire to press the right buttons; 'Just like Sammi,' she smiled. 

But not yet. As they followed the candlelit path to the master bedroom with the modern, low and wide bed, so Claire used another remote control to start the stereo. It could only be set to play one thing. The Flower Duet from Lakme, by Delibes. The music that British Airways used to use in its ads, when it had pretensions to be 'the world's favourite airline,' the music in the scene where Catherine and Susan make love and the music, Sammi thought, to which I am going to be fucked by both Claire and Greg. It was an awesome sound. The fantastic female voices and incredible music, filled the cottage. 

It seemed to be coming from everywhere, soaring up high and loud then low and quiet. The two girls stood by the bed looking at each other. Greg diplomatically moved to a chair in the shadows, as the beautiful sounds wafted round the old cottage. 

The earlier watching of the scene from The Hunger when Susan Sarandon had bared her breasts to Catherine Deneuve and now hearing the awesomely erotic Flower Duet music that accompanied the two women making the most stunning on-screen love, had aroused Sammi. They had loosened her, they had released her inhibitions, relaxed her and had made her amenable to Claire's inevitable advance. She was now fully primed and tingling with expectation. The plasma on the wall facing the bed flicking to life and being filled by the near naked bodies of the two beautiful, mature women, did the rest. As Sammi watched Susan's long legs opening, Catherine's beautiful back bending and her lovely face moving towards Susan's deliciously hardened nipple she heard her friend say.

"Are you ok Sam?"

Her immediate, thought, with a slight smile was to say, as Susan had said the Catherine, 'Are you making a pass at me?" Instead she said

"Yes Claire."

"We can stop at any time you know, just say so and we will."

"I know luv, thanks."

"That's right isn't it, Greg?" Claire asked.

"Yes of course," he replied from the shadows.

Sammi got the answer to her unasked mimicking of Dr Sarah Roberts when Claire said

"If you're sure then Sam, why don't we take our dresses off."

Chapter 6

It worked as near perfectly as making love can. Everything seemed to happen as if planned and rehearsed. There were no embarrassments, no hesitation, jealousy or greed. Nobody domineered another, no one was left out or ignored. It was very inclusive, very intense, very tender, very caring, very erotic and amazingly horny for each of them.

From the moment Sammi followed Claire's lead by undoing the buttons down the front of her dress as Claire unzipped hers at the back, the two girls were together.

"You look so beautiful Sam," Claire said as they looked at each other in their underwear: Sammi all black setting off the blondeness of her hair, Claire white accentuating the slight olive tone to her skin and darker hair.

"And you do too," Sammi whispered back as Claire took her by the hand and pulled her to the bed. They sat on the edge, Claire slightly turned so that her left stockinged knee pressed just above Sammi's right fishnet covered knee.

'Our first sexual contact,' Sammi smiled as she looked at Claire's lacy suspender belt. Sammi had never worn one and was fascinated and excited by the way it dug into Claire's hips making them more rounded and feminine. She found the elasticated straps which stretched from the belt to the stocking unusually erotic. Two ran down across Claire's groins and thighs and two more circumvented her rounded hip adding emphasis to their womanly curves.

"I love the suspenders," Sammi was saying as her friend slid her arm round her shoulders.

"And I love these," Claire whispered placing her hand right on the lacy tops of Sammi's hold ups, they look lovely.

"And absolutely so fucking horny," they heard, from Greg in the shadows.

"You stay out of this and wait your turn," Claire said in a mock stern voice as she looked deep into her best friend's eyes. 

God she was so lovely. She wondered why she had hesitated when Greg had asked to see her with another woman. But her sort of 'biness' wasn't like a man fancying a woman or vice versa. She loved Sammi as a friend, but somehow kept that love away from sex. They had been as good as naked together, they had sunbathed topless and had even slept in the same bed without sex rearing its head at all. Now, though, it was as if a new order had been formed. As she watched Sammi half closing her eyes, parting her lips and tilting her head to one side a little, as their faces moved slowly, but inexorably towards each other, she wondered how that new order would be in the future.

'It's happening, it's starting, she's going to kiss me,' Sammi was thinking as she stared into Claire's eyes, which despite the dim light, she realised for the first time were deep green. She was relaxed, it was what she wanted wasn't it? She wanted to be kissed by another woman, she had for some time, it was just the 'right' other woman had not until now come along. As Claire's, quite full, parted lips stopped just a few inches from hers, Sammi realised that after such a famine of fanciable, females she now had three. Three females who had given her the will to explore the curiosity which had been with her for so long. Three women who had provided the desire for girl to girl sex. Three women who had and were now arousing her so much. The film stars Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve and her best friend Claire.

It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world, something, it felt she had done so many times, but then in her mind Sammi had kissed many women, including her 'special three.' This time, though, it really was Claire's mouth on hers, Claire's lips opening around hers and Claire's tongue gently touching hers. It was Claire's arms round her, Claire's left breast pressed against hers.

Sammi was surprisingly calm, as if it happened every day. She wasn't fazed as she had felt she might be. Yes, her heart was pumping and her pulse was racing, but that was nice, not unpleasant. She was primed and ready, she wanted it, she wanted to give and to be taken. Yes, Sammi, realised as she and Claire began to squirm their lips more firmly together as the passion between them increased, she wanted Claire, her best friend, to fuck her.

She kissed back, firmly and squelchingly. She opened her lips wide and welcomed Claire's tongue into her mouth, around her teeth and gums, against her own tongue and deep into her throat. She pressed back with her tongue, licking inside her friend's mouth, licking along her lovely lips and gently sucking on them one by one.

Claire was amazed. Totally surprised, yet wonderfully pleased at Sammi's reaction, her most significant feeling was of relief. Relief that Sammi was so up for and, seemingly, into, it, that she herself was relaxed yet immensely aroused and was able to lead her friend towards sexual fulfilment and that she felt comfortable being with another woman in front of her long-term partner, Greg. She had caught his eye a few times and was pleased to see the combination of joy, excitement and pleasure on his face. Momentarily it occurred to Claire that Sam must have been with a woman before, she was so relaxed about it, so in tune with it and so bloody good at it.

Greg in fact was more excited than he had ever imagined he would be. He had always fancied Sammi and would probably have tried something had she not been so close to Claire. Seeing his 'most fanciable' woman, kissing the woman he loved was amazing. And seeing both his partner and his, soon to be, lover, sitting on his bed in their underwear and their outrageously erotic stockings was beyond his wildest dreams. Individually they looked amazing, together they created a vision of beauty and excitement which was well beyond his descriptive capabilities. So he just laid back in the chair, enjoyed his raging erection and watched the glorious scene unfolding in front of him still to the accompaniment of the sumptuously, sexy strains of the Flower Duet.

Now that the ice had been broken, events began to unfold more quickly. Although not with undue haste, it was almost as if both girls wanted to go from tentative foreplay to serious lovemaking as soon as they could.

Claire found Sammi's left breast in the lacy, black bra. She squeezed it, Sammi moaned and pressed back. Claire lifted the modest sized, but beautifully shaped and gorgeous feeling orb from the confines of the cup of the bra. Her fingers found and rubbed the small, coral pink areola and pinched the already interestingly hard nipple. Although, obviously, the sensations from Claire's hands on her breast were similar to those Sammi had received many times from men, the emotional sensations were so different. That was because it was another woman doing it, a woman who would soon make love to her, a woman whose partner was watching and might well do that as well, a woman who was Sammi's best friend.

Kissing Sammi, Claire reached round behind her and deftly unclipped her bra. She let the straps fall apart and then slowly and gently she eased the cups away from her friend's breasts. She had seen them before, many times, but on those occasions, they were simply a pair of female breasts. Now, they were a pair of womanly tits, tits that were hers to use and arouse, tits to make love to yes, they were now sexual not friendship tits.

Claire's hands cupping her breasts felt wonderful to Sammi; she groaned, arched her back a little and pressed back against them. 

'It is like riding a bike, you never forget,' Claire was smiling to herself as she stroked, rubbed, caressed and squeezed Sammi's boobs. All the feelings, the memories, the sensations and the pleasures of those stolen times when she was at university experimenting with her sexuality flooded back. 'God, sexually at least," she thought to herself pinching her friends extended nipple, "I could be lesbian.'

"Lay back Sammi," Claire muttered pulling on her friend's shoulder. Sammi lay in the middle of the bed, Claire sat on the edge staring at the young blonde. 'She really is gorgeous,' she thought her eyes taking in the golden blonde hair cascading onto the bed over Sammi's slightly tanned shoulders with a few strands falling onto her right breast. The pretty face with the sparkling, half-closed eyes and full, immensely kissable lips, which were slightly parted. The small, beautifully shaped breasts that were wobbling a little and going up and down as Sammi breathed, clearly rather heavily. The modest sized, coral pink areola and the fuller, nicely erect nipples. The flat tummy, the black thong snugly cuddling, or so it seemed to Claire, Sammi's seemingly rather prominent pubic mound. The patch of white skin, between where the vee of the black, lacy, silk thong reared up the maddeningly flat tummy and the beguilingly arousing tops of the black fishnet stockings. Sammi's gorgeous legs made to look even longer and slimmer by the black hosiery, were invitingly, slightly parted.

Sammi saw that some of Claire's hair had fallen down from the comb and large clip, which had been holding it up. A few strands fell across her face and some longer ones onto her shoulder. They looked very sexy, Sammi thought, quite revelling in lying back in just her thong and stockings as her friend visually fucked her, or so it seemed to her. Sammi was also acutely aware that Greg was an onlooker to all of this. She wasn't quite sure, though, just how that was affecting her and just how she was responding to the unseen watcher.

Claire was smiling, not a beamingly, wide one, but a small grin, one of pleasure and anticipation as, indeed, she did visually fuck Sammi for she was imagining her mouth and hands all over her friend's most intimate places. The white of Claire's, more basic, but nevertheless still quite sexy, bra was low cut and totally see-through, underwear contrasted beautifully with her darker skin. Excited, far more than she would have imagined, Sammi could see the dark shadows and large bumps inside the diaphanous, thin net, bra. She had seen Claire's dark areola and large nipples several times and such sights on others countless times, at the gym, the tennis club, in changing rooms and when she and Claire had undressed for bed, but never had she had a reaction such as this. It was as if she was about to see the Holy Grail. It was as men are, when they position themselves to get a 'flash of pink' and being so disproportionately excited when they do. Claire's nipples took on a whole new meaning as Sammi now looked at them as objects of sexual release and not just pink blobs on a little mound of flesh. 




The Power of Clothing Pt. 13



That whole new meaning became even more powerful, even more appealing, even more erotic and even more sheer, downright horny when Sammi watched her friend unclip, then remove her bra. Claire slowly laid down beside her friend. Sammi was on her back, Claire more on her side and front. She put one hand out to the side of Sammi's face and supported herself, but slowly bent her elbow so that her body sank onto Sammi's. Claire's leg slid between Sammi's which she parted a little more. The top of her upper thigh pressed against her friend's pussy, her hip and her suspender belt sank into the softness of her tummy and their waists were touching. Alternating their gazes between the other's eyes and the bare breasts before them, Claire slowly let her arm collapse so that her body came into more and firmer contact with Sammi's. Their lower chests merged and then, with Claire holding herself with her back arched their nipples touched. To both of them it was as if a match was being held against the very tip of their breasts.

"Ugh, oooo," Sammi grunted, involuntarily, but nevertheless hugely pleasurably to both them, arching her back causing their breasts to squash together. 

Claire stopped arching her back, she stopped trying to caress the tip of Sammi's nipple with the tip of hers, she ceased being sexually suggestive. Instead, her arm went round her friend and pulling on her body and pushing with hers she squirmed both pairs of tits firmly together.

"You sexy little bitch," she said smiling and rolling and writhing her body so that their breasts touched everywhere and were in permanent contact.

"Takes one, to know one," Sammi replied, lifting her face and kissing Claire.

"Touch my breasts, Sam," Claire said lifting herself up a little.

Sammi looked at the two perfectly symmetrical, deep pink almost brown tipped breasts hanging down in front of her. It was the simplest, most natural and, surprisingly far easier than Sammi had visualised in her many masturbation scenes to reach and touch them. She pressed her fingertips softly against Claire's full nipple, it was beautifully hard. She ran her fingers over both orbs, they felt lovely, just like her own, but of course different because they were another woman's breasts. She cupped them, stroked them, caressed them and then squeezed them.

"Oh yes Sam, yes, that's beautiful," Claire groaned as those wonderful feelings oozed through her.

Sammi's confidence was boosted, her inhibitions slipped away, she felt, at the same time, more relaxed, yet more aroused. She wanted more of Claire, more of her breasts, more of her body and she wanted to give more of herself to her friend. Holding Claire's left breast in an almost reverent way, Sammi lifted herself, she eased herself upwards, closer towards Claire. Claire realised what Sammi wanted, what she was trying to do. She edged herself further up Sammi's body pushing her head back against the bed. She cradled Sammi's face in her hands and then dangled her breasts over her friend's face, just millimetres from her mouth. It was what Sammi wanted, what Claire wanted and what they both needed.

Once the sensations of sucking another woman's nipples exploded throughout Sammi's body, their lovemaking became more urgent. Their actions were liberated and their gestures became more intense. Everything now seemed to flow in a perfectly natural, seemingly obvious, female bisexual manner.

They kissed and stroked each other, they caressed the others breasts and sucked their nipples. Their found and fondled the beautifully rounded cheeks of the other's bottom and slid their hands down the flat tummies to the damp vees of the centres of their femininity. 

Whilst Claire was the undoubted leader, Sammi was such an enthusiastic, quick learning and eager pupil that it soon became mutual lovemaking and joint sex. It was becoming clear to both of them that it was now not the older one who was going to fuck the younger one, they were going to fuck each other.

Greg didn't know what to do. It was, by some margin, the most erotic and exciting experience he had ever witnessed. It far surpassed even his wildest fantasies about it when he and Claire had lain naked caressing each other as they spoke about him watching her with another woman. It even surpassed their latest verbal fantasy, he and another man making love to Claire. He wasn't sure whether he should undress yet, but worried that if he did, he would not be able to resist masturbating and what a waste it would be shooting his cum onto his belly instead of in Sammi. He looked at Claire a couple of times and made gestures as to whether he should join and she shook her head. Well he thought she did, but he wasn't sure for her face was continuously contorted with the pangs of extreme arousal.

They were continually kissing, deeply, greedily and passionately. Their lips were squirming, their bodies writhing and their hands squeezing and stroking as if they simply could not get enough of the other's body, which was actually the case.

Claire had had full and complete lesbian sex when at university. She'd experienced both deep and intense mutual oral sex and hand--held, but not strap on dildo sex. Her experiences with other women hadn't included seduction or introducing a bi virgin to sex with another woman. She had thought considerably both, prior to tonight and since they had started, just how far they should go. Her first couple of times had not included oral either way. She had sort of thought that was the way to go. Maybe finger stimulation until orgasm this time and then introduce oral at a later stage.

"Shall we take these off," Claire whispered, giving Sammi's black thong a little tug.

"Yes," was her friends simple, but highly inviting reply.

Greg got so excited at hearing those words that he had to stand up to watch the amazing sight of these two beautiful women taking their panties off. As they slid the flimsy garments down their legs he revelled in hearing his long-term partner say. "But not our stockings Sammi?"

"No let's keep those on."

"Why?" 

"I like them."

"What mine?" Claire asked, for some reason snapping her susupender belt.

"Yes your's Claire, but also wearing them."

"They excite you do they Sam?"

"Yes, do they you as well Claire?"

"Very much and Greg."

"You like stockings do you Greg?" Sammi asked turning towards where she knew he was sitting.

"I love them, they look amazing."

"And are you enjoying our little show darling?" Claire joined in.

"God Claire, you know you don't need to ask that."

Claire put her arm round Sammi, they were lying flat on the bed, Sammi on her back, Claire on her left side.

"And are you Sam?"

"What?"

"Enjoying this?"

"Yes, Claire, yes I am."

Claire bent her head and kissed Sammi, her hand gently cupping her friend's breast. She ran it down Sammi's body and slid it into the neat patch of nearly blonde, trimmed pubic hair. She paused there for a moment, lifted her head, looked into Sammi's eyes and said. "And you want more Sammi?"

Sammi reached up and squeezed Claire's breast.

"Yes Claire, I do."

"What do you want?" Claire asked running s her finger further and finding Sammi's clit inside the hood of glistening pinkness. Sammi's body jerked, the sensation was hugely intense.

"I don't know Claire."

"Do you want to cum, Sammi?"

"Yes, yes Claire I do. Please make me cum."

It wasn't like one of those frantic, extraordinarily energetic orgasms usually portrayed in porn films. No, as Claire lay on top of Sammi they were calm and peaceful. It wasn't accompanied with screaming and inappropriate moaning. No, as their breasts merged and as their pubic mounds pressed together so both of them grunted and sighed with contentment. It wasn't like a gymnastic display with extreme writhing and rolling around. No, as their arms went round each other and gripped the cheeks of the other's bottom, so Claire simply made smooth thrusting movements to which Sammi's body involuntarily but willingly responded by thrusting back. They couldn't, of course, quite squirm their clits together, which would probably be the ultimate female bi experience. They could and did, though send tremors of feeling right to that place of such sensitivity, they caused little vibrations from their pubic mounds, they applied pressure and found a rhythm of smooth thrusting movements so that their lips and entire pussies were aflame and, of course, they ground their tits and nipples together. 

The serenity, the beauty, the tenderness, the caring and the sheer eroticism of the situation, slowly built their orgasms in tune with the soaring arias of wonderful music from Hunger . They didn't explode and sort of roar up a wall and then fall over the other side. It wasn't a sudden eruption or an instant explosion. No, whether by luck or judgement Claire and Sammi were able to create a joint and very mutual climax. It seemed to build and build before reaching a level just beneath fulfilment, where they were able to sustain the luscious feelings for what could have been hours, so into the orgasm were they. 

At last, at long, long last they finished. Claire rolled off her lover's body and they faced each other cuddling and pecking little kisses on the other's face and chest. The stockings covering their intertwined legs were all they were wearing. They contrasted so erotically with their bodies and set off the texture of their smooth skins so well. Greg was almost dumbstruck with the vision of his partner lying so seemingly comfortable and seemingly sated in the arms of another woman. They didn't look at him, they seemed to have eyes only for each other.

He wondered, "Have I lost Claire to another woman?"



The Power of Clothing Pt. 14



Tales about erotic clothing could not be complete without examining the part bras play in promoting sexual activity.

*

Chapter 1

Kate had never really been unfaithful to her husband Paul. In the over twenty years of marriage and the three they were together before that, she had never committed adultery. She had been tempted and she had received several, well numerous, offers. Some had been loose and some serious, but she hadn't taken any of them up. At times, especially when with a ghroup of other women, she often wondered why she hadn't?

She had come close, though, but then what attractive woman in her early to mid-forties hadn't? She knew most of her friends had and that some had gone further. There was the time on the hen do in Brighton when she had been heavily snogged against a wall in a club. There was the occasion at a Christmas party when she was working in an ad agency when she had gone with one of the Creative Directors to his office. He locked the door, they kissed and he pulled the top of her dress down and caressed her full breasts. Then there was Stephen with whom she had nearly gone to bed. Actually, she did lay on a bed naked in a hotel with him, but they had both pulled back from 'going all the way.'

With James, though, she knew was going to be unfaithful, she was going to sleep with him, have sex with him, commit adultery with him and be fucked by him. Just why she was so certain, she wasn't sure.

It had been building up since she had joined the gym where he was a personal trainer. The whole experience of the gym had got to her. The expanses of skin, the tight clothing of the men and women and all the sights and sounds had affected her. It was intimate, revealing, uninhibited, exhibitionistic, voyeuristic and very, very physical. There were half-clad bodies everywhere. Men and women posing and preening, lifting weights, running, stretching, rowing and cycling. There were bare legs pumping on running machines, bare arms pushing bars up and bodies in swim suits in the pool, the steam room, sauna and jacuzzis. On the various machines she saw buttocks swaying, breasts bouncing, bottoms jiggling and nipples hardening, albeit probably more from rubbing against a vest or tee shirt, although some, hers at times included, were for more basic reasons. The men mostly wore shorts and tees and there were lots of hunks as well as flabbies around; she didn't look at the latter very much. The women mainly wore long trousers, crops or pedal pushers tight over the bums and tummies, and skimpy tops with sports bras' big, supportive harnesses almost. 

All of this did something to Kate. The combination of the bodies, the amount of bare skin, the movement of breasts, tummies and bottoms, the outlines of men's bulges and women's mounds and breasts and the intimacy of so many half-dressed, or undressed depending on your view, affected her, strongly. But overriding that or, perhaps strongly influencing how she felt, was what she wore. Kate found it almost impossibly arousing getting dressed for the gym. The tiny thong which was necessary to prevent VPLs under the thin, tight, hipster trousers, the long trousers that clung to her bum and tummy like a second skin, the singlet on top worn over the sports bra. That was the sort of bra that breasts of her ample size needed, but even with it still bounced alarmingly when she went on the running machine. It wasn't a particularly attractive garment. It certainly was not as sexy as the lacy stuff she had taken to buying over the past couple of years, but it had something. What it was that caused Kate to become aroused when she 'encased' her D cup boobs into it, she didn't know. She also didn't know why, when she put it on the first couple of times she stared at herself in the mirror, why she wore just the bra, why she felt the need to touch herself and why she masturbated in front of the mirror wearing just her sports bra. She also didn't know, but had grown to stop worrying about knowing the answers to such things, why she felt she had to show her cyberlover, Dean, on her cam, what she looked like in the sports bra and, of course, nothing else.

So in a way, Kate was pumped up, fully primed, tuned into and turned on so much, that when her personal trainer, the mid twenties James, administered her initial assessment and then worked with her on the fitness programme they had agreed, she was putty in his hands. And James was ready for her. He was used to women of her age, used to seeing them 'lose it' at the gym and used to them being 'putty in his hands;' he liked holding putty.

Just over a week ago, James had gained a promotion to work as an area manager for the company. This would mean him travelling around his area, Essex, Kent and Suffolk, visiting the twenty gyms on his patch. It also meant that he would, of course, have to stop being Kate's PT and, as he got a car with the new job, he sold his own. Purely by coincidence, Kate had become James' last appointment and thus they left the gym at the same time. Usually she went to the gym three times a week, but this week, as it was James' last, she went every day. Each day she gave him a lift home. The first two nights she had parked on the brightly lit, main road, but on the others, as they were chatting, he had suggested she park round the back in what had been the garden of the big, old house. 

Over the next few evenings, their chat had become more personal, their gestures more intimate. He had stroked her hand, he had taken the clip out of her blonde hair and let it tumble down onto her shoulders and then eventually they had kissed. After that, the 'rules' went out of the window and last night he had slid his hands up the back of her singlet. At first, unusually, they hadn't found her breasts. No, for some reason, James spent ages with his fingers stroking and probing inside the wide strap of her sports bra. It was almost as if he was making love to that, the garment that had turned Kate on so much when she first wore it, that she had masturbated in front of her mirror in. 

'How could he know what that bra does to me?' She asked herself when she felt his fingers on her skin under the two inch wide, bra-strap running across her back, as they kissed, deeper and deeper.

Of course, he wasn't restrained to that. Although James had a sort of fetish for sports bras and loved indulging that by stroking and rubbing them, he had an even bigger fetish for women's tits. And an even bigger one than that for full, round, D cup wobblies like Kate's. So, of course they came out of the bra, and of course he stroked and squeezed the pliant flesh, and of course he pinched and pulled and kissed and gently chewed the big, suckled nipples and wide, dark pink areola. And of course he ripped away every last vestige of resistance that she may have had by saying.

"Oh Kate they are fabulous, perfect, so beautiful."

"Oh James, are they? Are they really?" Kate moaned back, badly needing the reassurance an older woman requires when exposing her ageing body to a younger man.

"They are truly beautiful," he whispered, then using a verbal trick he had heard in a film. "Thank you so much for letting me see them," adding as he looked deeply in her eyes and gently pinched her nipples. "Thank you Kate for sharing your breasts with me."

That was the moment when they both knew they would make love. It was then that Kate knew she would commit adultery. It was as James saw the expression in her eyes as he muttered those enticing words, that he knew he would fuck her.

James had told Kate that he was finishing early the next day, his last at the gym. He had told her he was having a few drinks at a pub near the gym with some of the team. He had told her he was then free all afternoon and had asked if she would like to collect him from there after she went to the gym. She had said she would, but had suggested she wait round the corner.

"I would feel awkward if the other trainers saw us together," she explained.

Holding her face in his hand, James alternated his gaze from where her singlet was rolled up and her breasts were hanging out of the sports bra, to her eyes. He replied.

"Why because they might guess we were going to make love?"

Chapter 2

That evening, all night and the next morning were agony for Kate. She was torn, she had so much conflict and guilt, confusion and remorse and, most worryingly to her, an almost permanent feeling of being like a bitch in heat over what was to happen with James.

It hadn't really needed spelling out. They didn't really need to discuss it, there was no necessity for them to agree in words that they were to make love, as Kate thought of it, and have sex, or fuck, as James did, but she had replied.

"Yes James, I would feel embarrassed when I come to the gym if they all knew or thought that."

Slightly cruelly, but very much too the point and adding to Kate's excitement he had replied.

"But that is what we are going to do, isn't it Kate?" As he had kissed her more deeply and again caressed her breasts.

She didn't reply until he squeezed her boob more firmly and repeated. "That is what you want isn't darling, I do."

"Yes, James, yes she gasped," thrilled but also a little worried at his use of darling. It did sound nice, though, she thought, wondering when Paul had last used such a term of affection.

They had chatted a little more, slowly agreeing that she would go to the gym. He would call her when his farewell drinks party was breaking up and she would pick him up. They had one final kiss and then as Kate was rearranging her clothes, James said lightly, but very meaningfully.

"Don't worry, I'll change the sheets on the bed," and then, just before he shut the door he added, "Keep the sports bra on won't you Kate?"

Kate took a spare sports bra and a clean thong with her, both dark blue. Changing into those after her half-hearted session and shower she was a bundle of nerves and several times decided not to go. 'It's not fair on Paul, he's a good man and father and, she was sure, didn't cheat on me' she thought, but knowing full well she would go.

Standing in the changing room fixing her make up, dressed in the bra and thong with her hipster, cropped to just beneath the knee gym trousers her warbling mobile made her jump. Her fumbling fingers pressed the wrong button and cut off the caller. She quickly looked at the call log and didn't recognise the number so assumed it was James. She called it back. 

"Hello babe, you ready for me?" He asked.

"Yes nearly," she whispered.

"Well I'm ready for you Kate so hurry and come"

"What?" She asked not getting the joke until he added.

"Yes come and get me."

She slipped into a clean singlet and the zip up gym top and was off.

James was waiting where they had agreed and he quickly slipped into her car, with it only stopping for a moment; all suitably subterfuge. They hardly spoke on the short trip to his flat. She parked round the back as usual and turned the engine off, but didn't move.

"Ok?" He asked placing his hand on her knee sending little shock waves through her.

"Yes," she replied softly, far from sure she was.

"Then come on let's go."

He opened a side door on the house. Inside there was a hallway to the left and a narrow flight of stairs in front of them.

"Which way?" Kate asked looking over her shoulder as she felt his hands on her hair.

"Straight up, that's how you prefer it, I assume" James replied with a smile as he flipped the clip and comb from her hair and pulled it down. "Mmm, that's better." He kissed softly on her lips and "Murmured, now get up those stairs."

He was exciting her. It was thrilling and adventurous, different and unexpected. She was being romanced and seduced and by a man young enough to be her son. Was she crazy?

As she turned and started up the stairs and as James put his hands round her right onto her breasts, she began to rather think she was. And when they got half-way up and she felt his hands on the waist band of her hipsters pulling at them she was convinced she must. She grabbed hold of her trousers and stopped him.

"What's the matter?"

"Don't."

"Why not?" He asked sounding innocent and making her protest sound slightly ridiculous.

"Someone might come."

Laughing he said. "Yes, us I hope and soon, but no one else Kate."

"How can you be sure?" She asked holding on tightly to the waist-band, which he was still pulling with both hands as they hovered half-way up the staircase.

"Well for a start, I haven't invited anyone else, I didn't think you would want that our first time and secondly the flat downstairs is empty."

"Oh I see."

"You sound almost disappointed, should I have invited someone else?"

"No don't be daft."

"Then my lovely lady, let go and keep walking, slowly. One step at a time as I tell you."

Kate was almost mesmerised, as if hypnotised by his youthful assertiveness. She took her hands away and lifted one foot up to the next stair. As she did, so she felt her trousers waistband slipping down her hips. 

'It's all so matter of fact,' she thought, 'So taken for granted, so as if having sex was the most natural thing in the world?' She supposed that was the way of the young, things were so much simpler and less complicated for them. 'For James' she thought, 'We are just going to have sex, that's all, simply sex nothing more and nothing less, for me we are committing adultery and that is big, but should it be?' Over the past year or so she had developed a greater interest in her body, what she wore and her sexual needs. Was it a coincidence that during this period Paul's interest had waned significantly. What was the chicken and what was the egg?

James saying softly, yet with authority.

"Move your other foot up to that stair and stand still," brought her back to the reality of what was happening. Just momentarily she hesitated and thought of stopping, but the need and desire in her overwhelmed such reservations.

She did as he said and felt her trousers being rolledover the swell of her bottom. By the feel of the air on her skin, she guessed the top was now about level with the start of the crease of her bum. 

"Do the same again," he directed. She did and this time they came further down. 

She could see at the front that at least half of her thong was uncovered so reckoned that most of her cheeks were on view. She was worried about that for, although she had a shapely bum it was on the large side and there was certainly some small saddle-bags or love handles on each hip.

"Mmmmm gorgeous," James murmured, running his fingers over each cheek and adding in an American accent. "You've got a great ass baby."

He made her continue like that two more times, which took her trousers down to her knees and got them to the door of his flat. He unlocked it and they almost fell inside. 

Before even closing the door, they immediately kissed. All of her pent-up need for him, her concerns, worries, guilt and excitement blended together into an explosion of feelings and emotions as his tongue surged into her willingly opened mouth. He was pulling at her clothes, undoing the zip of the top and with her help, struggling that off; she wanted him to look at her, as he had termed them, 'fabulous' breasts, she wanted to 'share them with him.' He rolled the singlet up and with no hesitation whatsoever, not that she wanted any, slid his hand inside the left cup of her sports bra.

"That looks great," he grunted staring at her breasts in the support garment. She kissed him. "And they feel even better," he said easing both orbs out of the bra. Still without shutting the door, he squashed her back against the wall and pressed himself against her. 

'God he's so hard' was her immediate thought as she felt his erection pressing into the soft, slight bulge of her tummy. She squirmed against him, revelling at the base of his erection putting pressure on her clit. Kate's hand slid down James' back and into the waist-band of his track trousers. She pushed further until she felt the cheeks of his bum. It was so beautifully smooth and youthfully taught, it made her shudder with want. She pulled on the waistband so it came down a little way, not as far as hers but so that at the back it was level with the middle of his gorgeous cheeks.

'She's up for it and ready for it,' James was thinking as he ground his hard on against her. 'Game, set and nearly match' he almost muttered enjoying the putty in his hands.

It was a splendidly sordid scene. Kate, a forty something, married woman with her slightly too long for her age, blonde hair tumbling down onto her shoulders was squashed against the wall in the tiny hallway inside the still open door of the small flat. James, a twenty three year old personal trainer was pressed firmly against her. They were kissing and pawing each other. Her top was rolled up, almost round her neck and her full, slightly floppy breasts were hanging out from the sizeable sports bra. The top of her gym trousers was around her knees, his were round his hips. It was wonderfully wanton, but neither could really appreciate that for they were so into giving and taking excitement, their minds thought no further than the other's body.

James suddenly grabbed her. He pulled her across the small landing and turned her round facing a square table. 

"Bend over," he growled, pushing against her head.

That action and his commanding tone excited her even more. 

Kate had come to terms with a number of things recently: her strong need to masturbate, a newly found exhibitionistic nature that enabled her expose herself on her cam and cyber, now, with two guys and her fetish for clothes, the white, almost see-through coat, the sexy undies and, of course the sports bra. They were all part of what she thought of as her sexual reawakening, but she had not come to terms with enjoying being dominated and being submissive. She was now, though, starting to and that was adding to her pleasure and arousal.

'Her arse is a bit big,' James thought, pushing his trousers and tight, supportive Y fronts down in one go. His respectably sized, extremely hard cock sprang free. Kate looking over her shoulder saw it and her pulse raced; it looked fantastic. It was bigger all round, she thought, than Paul's and certainly thicker than Stephen's, the only two she had seen in real life since her teenage years. The feel as he pressed it against her bum, its length fitting nicely into her crease, which was slightly open due to her parted legs, was delicious; she squirmed back against him, that felt lovely.

James didn't bother taking her panties off, he simply got hold of the slither of lace and satin of the blue thong and pulled it to one side. Her anus and the lips of her cunt were exposed, on view and right in front of him.

"You ready Kate?" He asked.

Her heart was pounding, her pulses were racing, she was panting and her legs were turning to jelly. It was the combination of the extreme sexual arousal and her intense excitement, or was it concern, that she was about to commit adultery for the first time, that was giving her these amazingly strong feelings as she whimpered. 

"Yes." 

The feeling as he surged up her was indescribable. Not just from a physical viewpoint, but also, more if anything, from how her emotions were reacted.

'Another man is in me.'

'I'm having sex with someone other than Paul.'

'I'm being fucked by a toyboy.'

"I'm committing adultery.'

All went through her mind. They were, however, totally and utterly outweighed by another thought.

'It's absolutely fucking amazing.'

As he had first entered her, James had, rather indiscreetly, grabbed hold of her 'lovehandles', but was now reaching round her and squeezing her tits and pinching her nipples.

"Is it good Kate?" He asked rubbing her breasts and slipping and down her well lubricated passage.




The Power of Clothing Pt. 14



"Oh yes, yes," she moaned back her head resting on her arms on the table.

"I want to make you cum Kate, hard and long, is that what you want?"

'How could a 'mere kid' even think such a thing, let alone ask it, but he had and how good was that?'

"Yes James, yes I do," she sighed back.

He stood up straighter. He once more held her hips, in fact he gripped them and grunted.

"Then I am going to fuck you now, hard and fast."

And he was true to his word. Leaning slightly backwards, which pushed his stomach and hips forward, he gripped Kate's hips firmly and started thrusting in and out of her. Faster, harder, quicker and deeper he went. It was glorious. It was so long since she had been fucked like this. Her entire body came alive, all of her being responded. Her mind and body joined together in one explosion of mounting pleasure as her so needed orgasm quickly built up.

"Oh James. Oh yes. Oh my God, yes, yes." she moaned gripping the table, closing her legs and squirming back against his ramming cock. It was awesome.

She was a good fuck, James thought as he held his hand on the back of her neck squashing her face against the table and seeing her tits, still half in the sports bra, dangle over the edge of it. She didn't just take it, she gave back as well; that was the thing about older birds he always thought, they get more involved. She pushed back, she closed her legs, even crossing them to increase the grip of her cunt lips on his cock and for her to wring more pleasure from the shag. She moaned and groaned and writhed her body against the table.

"Is it good Kate?"

"Oh yes James, it's good," she mewed reaching behind her, fumbling her hand between her bum and him and finding his balls. "It's very, very good." 

For him to accompany her hand there, which was actually rather nice, he couldn't shag her very hard, it was in the way.

"Move your hand luv, there'll be plenty of time for that later," he said, exciting Kate at the prospect of more of this later. It was years since she had had 'more later' for Paul had become strictly one time a session. The thought, which had been in her mind for the past few days, of being fucked several times in quick succession thrilled, yet slightly worried her. It worried her for she hadn't been shagged several times like that for probably, nearly twenty years. Her concern was whether she would be able to cope.

James went on as he pushed her hand away. "But now is the time for me to fuck you properly."

He gripped her hips more firmly, pulled her a little straighter then crashed his cock deeply in and almost out of her, in a fast, but even rhythm. As he surged in, so they both revelled at the sound and feel of his balls slapping against her upper thighs. It was just what she needed to change the nice, warm, tingly pangs of sensation oozing from her clit and breasts, into rushing torrents of emotional and physical sexual lava. The extra friction, pace and thrusting was what James also needed to change the mild tingling in his balls into a storm of urging sensations as his impending explosion built up steam. Their orgasms erupted as good as simultaneously.

"Oh my fuck" he grunted shoving himself as far into Kate as he could and holding himself there rigid and taught. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming."

"Yes James, yes, cum for me, cum. "

"I am, I am," he grunted back his fingernails digging deep into the excess flesh on her hips as he held himself almost upright and let his cock explode sending torrents of sperm shooting deep inside Kate.

Even before she felt that wonderful, extra throbbing of a cock as James approached ejaculation, Kate's emotional and physical responses had, like the proverbial volcano started to erupt. And, as she felt him starting to cum they completely erupted and became a flood of searing hot, orgasmic sensations. She moaned and she groaned, grunted and sighed. She crossed her legs to increase and prolong the sensation, then opened them and closed them again. She gripped the table and bit the back of wrist, pushing that into her mouth to suppress what might otherwise have been a loud scream. Her legs felt like jelly and her knees started to buckle as James collapsed onto her back. With him still embedded in her, they sank to the ground, Kate half on her side, James lying on her back. 

They lay there, quite still, as the thunderclouds of their orgasms passed and the intensity of their climaxes abated. She felt several little tremors ripple through her as still, he remained inside her. He cuddled her. That felt lovely and so different to Paul who, almost as soon as he had deposited his stuff in her, climbed off and went to the loo. 

Although James was a real player and even right now was shagging two other older woman and his 'girl friend', during sex with anyone he was in love. He focused totally on them and treated them as if they were the most special person in the world, which to him at the time they were. It was just that when out of sight they generally did become out of mind as well. 

He stroked her hair; he whispered how wonderful she was, how lovely her body was and how great making love had been. He used words well. It was often shag, screw or fuck before and during sex, but always after, it was making love or having sex. 'The birds love that,' he reckoned. He kissed her gently and tenderly and whispered nice things in her ear.

"Come on baby, let's undress and make love properly," he said after they had lay in each other's arms on the floor for fifteen minutes or so.

Standing up, Kate said. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"To wash or?"

"Yes to clean up," Kate said pulling her thong and trousers up, but not all the way. She could feel some of his stuff oozing around and didn't want that on her panties, for they were her only clean pair.

James showed her to the rather tatty bathroom and said. 

"Hurry then, I'll be in bed waiting when you're finished."

Even that thrilled her. It was so unusual, in fact the last time anything similar had happened must have been twenty years ago, she thought. As she thoroughly washed out a flannel and cleaned herself up, carefully again washing the flannel after she had used it, Kate suddenly surprised herself by thinking' I don't feel guilty.' That amazed her. She had just committed adultery, had just been unfaithful to her husband for the first time and she felt surprisingly calm and relaxed about it. 'God' she thought, 'The number of new experiences I am learning to cope with' as she readied herself for yet another; being fucked twice in quick succession.

A downside of an affair, or even an afternoon's sex, with a young guy, Kate quickly learned was the untidy and not very clean bathroom; she hoped the bedroom would be better.

Finding what appeared to be a fairly clean, but unironed towel on a shelf, she wrapped that round her. It just about covered her boobs at the top and came midway between her pussy and knees at the bottom.

Leaving her gym stuff, panties and bra in the bathroom she went towards what she guessed was the bedroom. The door was ajar. Pushing it open, she saw he had lit a couple of candles, that was nice thought, she thought walking into the dimly lit room; it looked and felt very romantic. James was on the bed. He was naked. He looked lovely. The closer she got the lovelier he looked for she saw that he was erect. That was something else that had not happened to her in over twenty years; a man being erect in such a short time.

"You look gorgeous Kate," James said holding his arms out. "Come on, come to bed, come to my bed, let me make love to you properly."

She loved the words, they were just what she needed and wanted to hear. She reached up for the towel.

"No babe, leave that right there. That's my pleasure. Come and lay here."

Rolling onto his side as Kate lay on the bed, James kissed her. She kissed him back. They exchanged deep, squirming kisses. Her arms went round his neck, his ran up and down her body. The different feelings as his fingers caressed her on her bare skin and then through the towel added to the excitement bubbling up inside her.

His erection was pressed against her hip. He was completely hard and it felt fantastic. She was pleased that she had given him that. But now, she wanted more, she wanted to touch it, feel it and hold it. She deserved that, she had earned it. Kate slid her hand downwards.

"Let me feel you James," she whispered the warm, hard, smooth length fitting beautifully into her hand. She smiled as she ran her fingers up and down its thick length.

"Nice?" He asked pushing his hips forward and a back a little as if shagging her hand.

"Mmmmm lovely, you have a great cock James."

Now it was James turn to smile as he thought again how great it was fucking older women; girl's his age would never say anything like that.

"You like it do you Kate?"

"Yes James, I do," she replied as his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh under the towel.

"You like cock don't you?" He asked as he found the silkiness of her lips.

"Mmmm," she sighed, both in agreement with his statement and from the nice feelings from his fingers. 

"And you like my cock don't you?" He asked pushing it harder against her hand and pressing his finger right on her clit.

"God yes," she groaned as a surge of sensations rushed through her.

"And you want my cock don't you?"

"Yes James, I do," Kate groaned pumping it a little quicker.

"But not yet baby," he said running his fingers all round her lips forcing her to open her legs with anticipation. He didn't make her wait long. "Not my cock yet Kate, this instead," he said, pushing his three middle fingers inside her.

It was like a kick in the stomach, so strong were the feelings as his fingers slid effortlessly inside her. Her body jerked and Kate grunted. "Oh yes."

"Is that like my cock?" he asked as they both looked down but could see nothing for the towel was covering the action.

"Yes," Kate said, squirming against his fingers. He started to pump them.

"Nice?"

"Yes, lovely," Kate said, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her head rolling form side to side, her hand pumping his cock.

"You like being finger fucked Kate?"

"Of course I do James."

"You like me finger fucking you?"

"Mmmm," she groaned as again, and in such a short time, her orgasm started to build. She reached up for the top of the towel. James caught her hand.

"No leave it."

"I want to be naked," Kate groaned back.

"You want me to have your tits do you?"

"Yes James. Please, please have my tits."

"Not yet," he replied, but he did squeeze them through the towel. "I'm going to make you cum. You want that don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Make you cum with my fingers."

"Yes"

He said nothing for a moment or two as he pumped his fingers rhythmically up and down the pinkness of Kate's soaked pussy. She was near, very near. She arched her back lifting her bum off the bed a little. She felt him pulling the towel apart down there. 

"Mmmmm that's lovely, what a sight view, have a look Kate."

She looked down and it was a sight. It was very erotic, wanton and hugely exciting to watch his fingers pushing in and out of her. That and his next phrase put her right over the top

"I'm making you cum by fucking your cunt with my fingers aren't I Kate?"

She could hardly reply for her body and mind were taken over by such wonderfully powerful feelings, but she just managed. "Yes, yes thank you James."

Kate felt wonderful. Sated temporarily, her body was glowing with little tremors still going through it, as she lay in his arms, still holding his gorgeous erection.

They kissed for a while and then James said.

"Now is the time Kate."

"What?" She asked."

"This," he said taking hold of the towel and slowly pulling it apart.

"God you are lovely," he whispered running the back of his fingernail from her chin, between her breasts, past her waist, over the slight swell of her stomach, through her pubic hairs and once more onto her clit. She was still deliciously wet down there, he found when ran he ran his fingers further. "I adore your breasts," he whispered taking hold of both of them, pushing them together and licking between them before sucking on each nipple in turn.

"And I love this?" Kate replied stroking his erection.

"Do you want this now?" He asked thrusting his cock at her.

"Yes."

"What do you want Kate?"

"You, I want you."

"What part of me?" He asked his, voice muffled by the amounts of her breast flesh he was sucking, probably making, she thought worrying a little, red marks.

"Your cock James, I want your cock."

"And what do you want me to do with my cock Kate?"

"I want you to fuck me with it James."

And James did just that. Tenderly, yet energetically, caringly and, at times, roughly, but thoughfully and also instinctively. He responded to Kate's every need, thrusting deeply when she needed that, almost removing his cock when that was right and then, when they both felt it apt, he held himself still and rigid as far in her as he could go. He also moved around, more, far, far more than Paul. They started with Kate on her back, then on her side, on top of him then back underneath him.

'He's a good fuck,' she thought, gripping his bum, running her hands over his back and lifting her opened legs up and wrapping them round his waist

"She's a good fuck,' he thought too, squeezing her tits and surging in and out hard and fast, loving her energetic response, meeting him thrust with thrust and surge with surge. 

They went together well, finding an early rhythm that enabled them to raise the other nearly to climax several times, only to hold themselves there in that wonderfully suspended state of near orgasm until eventually, at their choosing, they both let their minds and bodies explode.

Kate left at just after nine; she'd told Paul there was a sort of party at the gym so he wouldn't suspect anything, unless that is, she had thought, as she was eventually getting dressed at James flat, he doesn't see the red marks on her breasts and inner thighs.

They had had sex once more an hour or so after their second session. 'Three times in three hours' Kate marvelled as she was leaving.

James had enjoyed her and knew this wasn't a one off. It would be easier for him to carry on an affair with her now he was not working at the gym. 'Familiarity breads contempt' was a maxim he believed as far as his sexual liaisons were concerned.

He loved watching a woman he had just most comprehensively fucked, get dressed afterwards as he lay in bed naked. It often made him hard again as it was almost doing as Kate started to slip into the little thong.

"No," he said.

"What?" Kate asked.

"Put the sports bra on first and let me see you just wearing that."

That made him completely hard, so they fucked again, with this time, Kate dressed in just the sports bra and nothing else.